Demons I get
by ontara
Summary: Dean is taken, but the supernatural has nothing to do with it...will he be able to free himself and get back to his brother and dad...? Dean is 16, Sam 12, Hurt/Dean!
1. Chapter 1

Demons I get…

OK, so this is my first fanfic. I've written some before, but no one ever got to read them...since this is my first try, please be kind a review and let me know if you like it... I have most of the story down already, but I just wanna make sure that I'm going in the right direction with this, that it's something anyone would want to read...

And please note that I'm not from the States or the UK, so I hope I didn't make too many mistakes in grammar or spelling!

The story is pre-season1, Dean is 16, Sam 12.

And I guess I need to say that I don't own them, even though I sure wish I did... ;-)

Demons I get…

Chapter 1

He could not panic.

There was absolutely no reason to panic.

Dean forced his breathing to calm down, fighting the rising panic that constricted his chest and throat.

Ever since that day, about a years ago, when this thing, this freaking poltergeist up in Montana, had trapped him in this coffin-like box where he had been stuck for more than three days, claustrophobia had become a huge problem for him. Far more of a problem that he could, would have led on, especially in front of his dad and brother. He had to be alert at all time, that was expected from him, his job, his purpose, the only way to watch out for Sammy.

He had gone through the movements many times before.

- Just breathe through the pain, the panic. Think of wide open spaces, picture the ocean, the sky…

It had worked pretty well the last couple of weeks, he hardly ever had a real bad attack any more, at least not at one of their many "homes", one of the crappy motel rooms they usually stayed at.

But this situation was different.

The weight pressing down onto his chest war crushing and what made matters worse was the fact that he was, literally spoken, in the dark.

They'd pulled a cotton sack over his head, tied it around his neck to keep it from slipping off. He could actually breathe fine through the rough fabric, but the panic, the claustrophobia, had its claws around his throat and this was the hardest fight for him at the moment.

He could hear them laughing, talking, voices muffled by the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

The one sitting on his back was now finished tying his hands.

The bonds were tight, some kind of hard plastic with sharp edges, cutting into his flesh.

Jeez...

He just couldn't believe what was happening. This had to be some kind of bad dream, like a nightmare, a movie he had seen on TV and was now dreaming about.

One more time he tried to shake off the one sitting on top of him, squirming to get away from him, but the attempt only caused them more laughter and the weight on his chest, if ever just slightly out of balance, only came down on him harder. He coughed, panted for air, but this only made matters worse for the fabric that covered his face plastered itself to his mouth and nose with each inhalation and increased the feeling of panic even more.

He didn't understand why they'd put a blindfold on him, he knew who they were, anyway. This was only to humiliate him even more, to show him, that they were completely in control.

He forced himself to think about something else, even though that was very hard to do, to think of anything but the panic, that was seizing him with iron fists.

-Just breathe slowly, try to relax. What can they do to you? They only try to scare you, won't really hurt you…-

"Do you think he can breathe under this thing?"

This was Janie's voice, stricken by doubt, but too weak to give any real resistance, even if she'd wanted to.

"Don't worry, Jan, he'll be just fine."

Another laugh.

"It will only be another couple of minutes!"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, ran his tongue over his cut lips. He didn't know what the best attempt would be, should he ask them to release him, should he beg, swear that he wouldn't turn them in if they'd let him go? His pride said no, they wouldn't dare go any farther than they already had. Those were smart kids, rich kids, their daddies lawyers and managers.

Surely they'd know, that they were now taking it too far.

They'd probably abandon him somewhere, take his word not to tell anyone and then just let him go.

They'd had their fun, had scared him, even hurt him, surely they wouldn't go any farther.

The car caught a road hole and Dean groaned as the boy sitting on top of him was riding the bucks out like a cowboy attending a rodeo. He was momentarily lifted up to come crashing down again heavily onto his back, laughing as if this was the most hilarious thing in the world. Dean felt tears stinging his eyes, the urge to retch so strong he almost gave in.

-Only a couple more minutes…!-

Then, suddenly, the car stopped.

Dean felt the car swing as the others got out, then the one holding him down got off of him and only one second later he felt someone grabbing his ankles. He got pulled halfway out of the vehicle, then someone took hold of the rope around his neck, pulling him up backwards.

Dean stumbled backwards, not able to keep his footing, stumbling and finally falling. He fell hard onto his shoulder, but before he could even as much as roll onto his side he was again pulled upwards, this time by more hands, holding him up, walking him away from the car.

The ground beneath his feet was soft, damp and he could hear the rustling of leafs as he trudged along.

Then the texture changed and he could hear a door or large gate being opened.

A second later they were inside a room, more like a hall, for the echoes of their steps came back at them from the walls surrounding him. An empty hall, from the sound of it, large, metallic.

He felt the panic rise again, well, not that it had ever really left.

His legs felt wobbly, he was afraid that they would betray him any minute.

They led him through the hall, like leading him to his execution.

With every step Dean felt less sure that they would let him go eventually, that this was only a sick game. They stopped.

"What now?" Peter's voice this time.

"Over there…" Joe, the one holding on to Dean, said.

"Cut his hands free, we'll fix them to that hook up there."

Dean felt his body go rigid.

This may be the only chance he was going to get.

He heard them moving around him, nervously trying to locate where each of them might be. Yet he was taken completely by surprise when suddenly a burning pain passed through his arms as someone was cutting the bonds on his hands, using a knife and not being too careful with it.

But he couldn't worry too much about the pain now.

Before he could even think it through, Dean acted.

Had he thought about it, he would have probably come to the conclusion, that it was all in vain, that he stood no chance against 5 of them, blindfolded as he was, not knowing his surroundings, not seeing. He darted to the right, the side where he thought he would find the least resistance, actually running into someone there, pushing him to the ground. He fell right on top of him, painfully cracking his knee but managed to regain his balance and get back onto his feet.

He started running again, blindly, hands groping fiercely at the bag over his head, trying desperately to free himself, to be able to see where he was going.

He didn't get very far.

A horrible blow suddenly hit his side, basically lifting him off his feet and sending him flying for at least a meter or more before he hit the wall full force. His scream was drowned by a gurgling cough as blood rapidly filled his mouth, made him gag, forced him to vomit into the sack covering his face. He instinctively rolled over onto his knees, ignoring the terrible pain in his side, fingers desperately trying to get the fabric away from his mouth, to keep him from drowning in his own puke.

Then another blow sent him skidding down the wall again, his forehead hitting concrete as someone kicked his head with a heavy boot.

After that there was, thankfully, only darkness.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"Where is Dean?"

John gave Sam a quick once-over as the boy entered the motel room, school bag slung over his left shoulder.

"Don't know" Sam replied sullenly.

To be honest, he was a little pissed at his big brother for not picking him up after school, as he had promised only this morning. Sam had planned on showing off a little to his new friends, he knew how his fellow students would look at his brothers car, hell, even at his cool brother himself.

Sam had waited more than an hour before finally taking off on foot, to walk the 2 miles to their current residency by himself.

When he had found out that Dean apparently wasn't there either, he had gotten even more pissed, suspecting that his big brother had probably forgotten about him over some girl he had met at school and was now driving around with in his car.

But even though he was mad as hell by the time he entered the motel room to find his father doing some kind of research, as usual, he couldn't let on about how he was really feeling, knowing, that if he told his dad that Dean had ditched him, he would be mad as hell at Dean for not watching out for Sammy.

He'd most definitely yell at him, lecture him about his responsibilities towards his younger brother, ground him for nothing but hunts for at least a month.

The worst thing would be that Dean would just listen to all of it silently, rigid, eyes unwavering but just a little distant, jaw set. He would accept his punishment silently, always dad's good little soldier who knew that he must have done something wrong because surly his dad would not punish him without reason, right?

Even at the age of twelve Sam was well aware of the fact that this was not the way were supposed to be – not in "normal" families. Not that he considered their family to be normal, but still it did strike him as unfair that his father would put such responsibility on his oldest son's shoulders.

Dean was only 16, he deserved to have some fun once in a while.

Still, he was just a little pissed for beeing stood up.

"You know when he'll be back? We might have a hunt tonight, I'm still waiting for confirmation from some sources…"

"Don't know, dad, I guess he just went to the mall or something. I'm sure he'll be back for dinner."

Which would be pizza or burgers, depending on what Dean would bring, if he thought to bring anything at all. Sam doubted that his dad had planned anything in the cooking-departement for tonight.

John just nodded absentmindedly, already engulfed in his research again.

Sam quietly slipped into his and Dean's room to take care of his homework and stay out of his father's sight until his brother came back home.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

tbc - if you like it at all that is...


	2. Chapter 2

First off,thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews...this is just something completely new for me - people reading what I write and some actually liking it...?! amazing!!

well, here it goes - read on:

Chapter 2

It had not been a dream, that much was for sure.

He regained consciousness as a boot connected repeatedly with his side.

Instinctively, Dean tried to turn away from the blows, a deep groan escaping his lips before he could hold it back. But he found that he couldn't move much, his hands not tied beyond his back anymore but instead pulled upwards, tied together and fixed to something above his head. He was sitting on the floor now, back resting against the wall he probably had been smashed against.

It took him a few moments to clear his head, but as soon as he had, he struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as his bruised side sent jolts of pain through his body.

His mouth was free now, and he greedily sucked in a deep breath, only to regret it again a second later when his side insistently reminded him that he should better not move too much. The kicks to his body stopped. He could hear them laughing again, voices all around him, teasing him.

What confused him the most was the fact that even though he could now breathe more or less freely, he still couldn't see. Something was still covering his eyes, something far tighter, far more confining, sticking closely to his skin.

He turned his head, tried to rub the thing off on his arms, panic coming back with a snap. He hated the darkness, hated confinement, feared the helplessness. His breathing came in quick, heaving gulps he was unable to control and he felt big beads of cold sweat starting to roll down his face.

A voice suddenly came from only inches away, startling him.

"Now, now, look who's awake…"

Dean struggled away from the voice, his feet searching for footing on the floor, trying to push his body as far away from the voice as possible. Again laughter, still far too close, then a hand dug into his hair, pulling his head backwards, exposing his throat.

He could feel Joe's breath on his face, pressed his lips shut, desperate not to show the fear he was now experiencing.

"You can struggle all you want. But know one thing: if you ever try to pull some shit like this again, you'll regret it a hundred times more than just now…"

Dean didn't dare to speak, feared, his voice would betray him the minute he opened his mouth. Yet his brain was working overtime, searching for something to say, something to do. This was just so unreal.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, raspy but with surprising strength he hadn't thought he possessed.

"Please, Joe, think this through…this is madness! Why are you doing this…what have I done to you?"

No more laughing this time.

The hand was still holding his hair, Joe still looming over him. He felt another figure moving in on him, coming dangerously close. Sweat was rolling freely down his face and neck now, every muscle in his body tensed to the uttermost extend.

"What have I done to you?" his voice breaking at the last word.

He felt a surge of humiliation washing over him, anger at himself for being so goddamn weak. His dad would skin him alive for this. And Sam definitely was not going to hear about this, ever…

They kept him on tenterhooks, bathing in his agony, smiles feelingly plastered onto their faces but not giving in to his pleas, not talking to him. The humiliation gnawed strongly at his ego. Just when he thought that he couldn't take it any longer, Joe suddenly inched even closer to him, apparently sensing his discomfort at being touched by others, at being so close to anyone. He sat down on Dean's thighs, weighing him down, any movement impossible.

His lips were right at his ear, touching it even, his voice low, yet loud enough to be heard by the others.

"You don't belong here. You are not welcome here!"

Dean felt his head go light, anger pairing up with the fear, barely able to control either emotion. But he couldn't let his temper get the better of him right now, there was too much at risk. Speaking those next words was probably the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, forcing his voice to stay calm while he wanted to spit the stupid fuck in his face.

"It's not too late…you can still end this. Nobody ever has to know…"

He knew that there was no way they were going to go for it. They'd overstepped the border long ago, now there was no way back. Even if they'd let him go, someone was bound to find out, Dean's injuries far too visible to be kept a secret. His dad would get it out of him, there was no doubt about that and there was only so much Dean could do to keep the satisfied smirk off his face when he imagined what exactly John would do to those fuckheads…but then again, they were only humans…he really didn't know how his dad would handle that…

Demons and Monsters they knew how to deal with, but just regular people…?

Still, someone would find out!

And they knew it, too.

Again, the punch came out of nowhere. This was exactly what Dean was most afraid of, not knowing where they'd strike next, not being able to prepare for the attacks in any way.

A fist came crashing down into his abdomen, pushing all the air out of Dean's lungs. The natural instinct to such an assault was to topple over, but his head was still forced back against the wall, his legs pinned to the ground by Joe who was sitting on top of them. At first, he couldn't even scream, his mouth opening but no sound escaping. Then another fist came, and another and suddenly, there were fists and feet and heavy boots all around him, connecting solidly with his stomach, his side, his chest.

Finally, he cried out, not more than a hoarse groan at first, turning into a blood-sputtering cough. Joe let go of his head, got up and joined the others. They didn't stop.

Dean felt like a puppet on a string, unable to protect himself in any way, trying to pull himself up to his feet by his bound hands, but being pushed off balance again by the next blow. He pulled his feet up, attempting to cover his abdomen from more kicks, failing. He heard someone screaming, an almost inhuman sound, and it took him awhile to realize that it was his own voice he was hearing.

-Jesus…-

He could hear his ribs cracking, felt them give way, felt the piercing pain, the terrible nausea. Blood was rapidly filling his mouth, gagging him.

Suddenly, a strong jolt went through his body, his arms were pulled upwards, his body being hauled off the floor.

The joints and sinews in his elbows and shoulders screamed out in protest and he instinctively struggled to pull his legs underneath his body to take the weight off his arms. The bonds were cutting deeply into his wrists and already he could feel warm blood trickling down his arms.

The beatings had stopped at least and he could hear the creaking of the linkage with which they were now pulling his body up into an upright position. They pulled him so high that he was barely able to stand an his feet anymore but when his feet actually left the ground, a loud, popping sound emanated from his right shoulder and he momentarily felt himself slipping away as his shoulder was painfully dislocated by the last, heavy pull on the cord.

This time, he screamed.

His hands tried to grope for the rope holding him up, yearning to ease the pressure, fighting to lighten the burden, but his fingers would barely move any more, the blood flow cut from them, the burden too heavy to leave them any room to act. Surprisingly, they did seem to ease him down a bit, but only so much as to let him stand on the balls of his feet.

Dean felt certain that he would pass out right then, the pain so fierce, so terrible, that he didn't think it possible to keep his senses any longer. His temples were throbbing numbly, his head feeling as if packed in thick layers of cotton, lolling to his chest, too weak to lift it up again by his own account. His breathing came in rapid, heaving gasps, each exhalation accompanied by a low painful moan. He couldn't open his eyes underneath the blindfold, which told him that they probably used some kind of duct tape to cover his eyes.

This, again, made him panic.

He couldn't handle an attack right now, the breathing problems, the vomiting. He forced his head back into his neck, lips apart, sucking in a deep breath, trying to ignore the burning pain passing through his lungs as he did so.

He was so fucking scared.

He didn't hear the voices surrounding him but felt their presence nonetheless. But right now it didn't matter, if they'd laugh about him, if he'd humiliate himself. Maybe that was the better way, anyway, maybe they needed to see, what they were doing to him.

Oh god, it hurt so much…

"Please…"

Dean forced the voice out between clenched teeth, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, mingling with the blood that trailed a thin line down to his chin.

"Please…please just take off the tape…just…let me see."

He felt the tears burning behind his eyelids, unable to get out. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth was overwhelming, frightening. He was again startled by the voice, Peter's this time, coming from out of nowhere.

"But we're not done with you yet. We have something special for you that we saved for last…"

With that he grabbed Dean around the chest, making him whimper as he swivelled him around, turning him face-first to the wall.

Dean lost balance for a moment, swaying. He rested his forehead against the cool wall, savouring the sensation on his all too hot skin.

"You are so going to pay…pay for this…" he gulped out between ragged breaths.

Way to go, Dean, that sounded really threatening… he chided himself angrily.

His voice had been barely above a whisper, almost too weak to be heard even by himself.

Not that it mattered, they wouldn't let him go anyway.

Something cold was pressed against his back, something pointy and sharp.

A knife. Dean moaned unconsciously, unbelieving. The blade was drilling deeper, cutting through his t-shirt, slicing his skin. Just when he thought, that this would be the end, that he would now be stabbed from behind, the knife was suddenly pulled upwards, cutting cleanly through his shirt, nicking skin, but not doing any real damage. Every muscle in Dean's body was cramped, shaking with exhaustion, with fear. Peter ripped the shirt completely apart with his hands, cut the sleeves, too, then pulled the shreds off his body.

"Now look at this. Looks like someone's got the same idea before us…"

Peter traced his fingers over the multitude of scars that ran across Dean's back, his shoulders. Some of them were newer, pink and raised and barely healed yet, others older, almost white and much harder to make out already.

The boy tensed even more, trembling. The touch felt like shocks of electricity, he instinctively twitched away from it, lips pressed shut in distress.

He pulled himself upwards, squirming, as his wrists roared in protest.

"Now, here we were, wanting to show you how you people are supposed to be treated, but you already seem to know, don't you?!"

Dean didn't answer, turned his head to the side, spitting out a surge of blood that had collected in his mouth.

"Fuck you…just…get it over with…"

Now here we go he thought to himself. Good move there, Dean. Like you are in any position to be cocky like that.

Peter let go of him, left him standing there. Dean was working fiercely on calming down his breathing, tried to focus his mind on something else, breathing through the pain and panic, just like he's been taught by his father.

Focus, damn it…

Yet it was impossible to do, all thoughts automatically spinning back towards the fear of what they were going to do with him.

He imagined their gazes on him, felt them slicing into his back like a knife. How could they hate him so much? He'd had only been at the school for a couple of weeks, how could they already hate him enough to do this to him? It usually took even Dean Winchester a little longer to piss others up that royally…

With each breath Dean felt cracked or broken ribs piercing his lungs. The pain was beyond anything he'd ever felt before, and he had felt his fair share. If it hadn't been for the bonds with which his hands were tied, he wouldn't have been able to keep himself upright anymore. A chill went through his body, his skin, bruised as it was, covering with goose bumps. Even these tiny tremors sent new waves of pain through him, making him moan inwardly.

Just get this over with…

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Once again thanks to everybody who took the time to read and review…_

_So, here we go again – the next chapter:_

Chapter 3

How long had he been here already? It felt like hours, but could he really trust his judgement anymore? And why the hell had they taken away his shirt?

At least this last question was going to be answered fairly quickly.

He heard the swishing sound of something slicing through the air, but before his tortured brain could even begin to comprehend what this sound might be, it kind of explained itself. The whip hit his bare back with full force and with the first surprise of pain Dean cried out. He instinctively pressed his body as close to the wall as possible, knowing full well that he couldn't get away but trying anyway.

Only second later, the whip hit again, followed by something else, more painful even, if that was even possible. Something sharp seemed to have been attached to the whip somehow, immediately cutting deep into Dean's flesh, eliciting another deep groan.

They were actually laughing, wallowing in his misery.

Dean's pride again won over reason. He pressed his lips shut in an attempt not to scream, fought with all his might to not be giving them what obviously turned them on even more. The pain was overwhelming, burning, terrifying.

He bit down on his lips as stroke after stroke hit his battered body, drawing blood, not caring. His chest burned like fire, white hot pain flashing through him with every breath he took. He felt warm blood running down his back, soaking through the hem of his jeans. He didn't think he'd be able to take it much longer.

With one last, mighty effort he pushed himself up, not even being aware of the fact that he'd no longer been standing on his feet but dangling on the cord like a piece slaughtered meat, and turned himself around. When the first strokes hit his now unprotected stomach, already tortured beyond imagination, he regretted the move he'd just made. But now he was not able to turn back again, all his strength used for this one action.

It seemed to go on indefinitely, but eventually, it stopped. At first he wasn't sure if he'd passed out or if it'd actually stopped, but as soon as he tried to move his head, felt the roaring pain thundering through his head, his entire body he knew that he was still very much aware. He moaned, head sinking against the wall, blocking out the pain that numbed his arms and shoulders, not able to put his weight onto his feet again, resigning to the unavoidable.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

They left him standing there for what appeared to be forever. He was drifting in and out.

They were still there, that much he could make out, but the voices only penetrated his ears through thick layers of mist, almost inaudible.

How long had it been since he'd been abducted? Would his dad already worry about him? He tried to remember, if he was supposed to pick up Sammy today – probably so, but there was just no way to be sure. A sudden surge of panic, not of the claustrophobic kind, hit him…Sammy…he had left his brother. The kid was probably pissed as hell for being stood up and he had every right to be so!

God, how could he have let that happen – he had but one job and a simple one at that – pick up Sammy, get him home safe. He could have kicked himself for screwing this up so thorougly.

Stop feeling sorry for youself and get your things together, dude Dean chided himself, concentrating on his breathing once again, willing the wet wheezing noice that forced past his lips with every exhalation to stop.

Think about the positive side…at least, Sam would worry, right…?! He'd be pissed at first, but then sure as hell he would figure out that something was wrong. The kid was smart and he knew that Dean loved his little brother more than anything, well, maybe the Impala…no, not even she did come before Sammy.

Dean forced out a painful chuckle at the thought.

Sam just had to know that Dean would never, ever, leave him like that, not for anything in the world! Sam was good at worrying, he had to give him that. If anyone would worry, it would be his little brother and he sure as hell could be annoying enough to get his Dad to worry as well…

But even if they'd worry, chances were slim that they were ever going to find him. This place had to be pretty remote, otherwise they would have taken an extraordinary risk in leaving his mouth uncovered. And there sure as hell weren't any EMF-readings or sulfur traces they could follow.

Just freaking humans - now how fucked up was that…

Well, now it wasn't such a great risk leaving him ungagged anymore, Dean was barely able to breathe without toppling over in pain, let alone call out loud enough to be heard even by the people in this very room.

"What do we do with him?"

The voices were drawing nearer again, he could just make them out, so they had to be very near indeed.

Dean decided to not move as to not risk any more abuse but he felt his breath immediately quicken as he strained to hear what they were discussing.

"I'm still thinking about that…" said Peter, voice strained, obviously nervous.

"He fucking knows, who we are. He's going to turn us in, you know that, don't you?" Joe's voice now, much more sure about what his choice of action would be.

"We cannot just kill him…we were never going to kill anyone…"

"Jan, will you just shut up, for god's sake, I'm trying to think here!"

Peter was pacing now, moving in small circles until Joe had had enough of it.

"Listen now, here is what we do: we just leave him here for the night. Nobody will find him, we lock the doors, gag him,- even though, just look at him, he won't be able to yell out, anyway. He probably won't survive the night, we come back tomorrow morning, find him, call the police. If he's still alive, which I really doubt, we'll do the same. If he tells the police he recognized our voices, we'll argue that we were indeed there, when we found him. He never actually saw us when we grabbed him. He must obviously have heard us then and because he was in shock and definitely scared, he thought that we were the ones that did these terrible things to him…either way, us finding him will explain why there are tracks of us everywhere. He is new in town, his family… drifters, never staying in a town for more than a few weeks, right? Nobody is going to believe him over us! But ff this should ever come to trial, my dad will take care of it. Believe me, we are on the save side with this."

And he actually did sound very sure about this, like, 99 sure.

The room went quiet, even the shuffling had stopped. Only Dean's raspy breathing penetrated the silence. He felt his heart racing, the drumming in his head increased again, blocking out any further sound in the room. If they left him here, he stood absolutely no chance.

The attack now seizing him knocked him out cold. As much as he tried, he couldn't stay calm. One last time he attempted to get back onto his feet, but before he could summon all his strength to do it, another fist connected solidly with his stomach and the the exploding pain knocked him out cold immediately.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

When he regained consciousness, he was again sitting on the floor, hands now bound behind his back, shoulders screaming from the change into the new, not much more comfortable position. He didn't dare move for he was afraid that any movement would attract some, well…unwanted attention.

He tried to remain in his position as long as somehow possible. Over his own, incoherent breathing, he had trouble making out any other sound in the room, but he actually didn't hear a thing. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer.

He tilted back his head, let out a surge of air through his nose, moaning painfully. Nobody came. Nobody made a sound. Had they left already? He tried to concentrate, to focus all his senses on hearing what was around him, but he couldn't make out a thing.

Slowly, there were other sounds though, that penetrated his ears. Nocturnal sounds, filling the air outside the room or house he was held in. He hadn't heard them before, now they were everywhere.

Dean took the risk.

He attempted to open his mouth to scream only to find that he couldn't and with a terrible shock realized that his mouth had again been taped shut. The sound that he did manage to make was so feeble, so muffled by the gag, that here was no sense in trying that again. At least nobody came to silence him. He was alone.

The relief that initially flooded him very soon vanished, though, as soon as he realized what this actually meant. He was alone. There was nobody there anymore, he was absolutely on his own. And, goddamnit, he couldn't breath through his mouth…

He was cold, his shirt gone, shivers raking through his body in steady intervals, subsequently drawing waves of terrifying pain after them. He wanted to scream so badly. His nostrils were flaring wildly and he felt tears stinging his eyes, locked behind his eyelids, unable to be released.

What if they came back in the morning? If he should still be alive, would they really leave him alive? They'd have the whole night to think this through, what if they did get to the conclusion that it was indeed better if he was not able to identify their voices, good plan be damned? Their plan sounded a hell of a lot more practical without him being able to get a word in, however much believable he or would be.

He had to do something. His hands were tied behind his back, but some weak attempt to roll away from the wall proofed that he had not been fixed to it anymore. His feet and legs weren't tied, they'd probably thought him to be unable to move with the injuries they'd inflicted. Right now it seemed that they could have been right about that.

He lay on his side now, concentrated on his breathing. His blindness still bothered him as much as the fact that he could open his mouth to breathe. He had to get out of here. Once outside he might be able to find a street, or a house,- someone. Fleetingly he thought about trying to scream again but soon decided that he had to save both breath and strength.

He could maybe try once he was outside, in here it would only be strength-consuming. He pressed his back against the wall, shrinking back when his scarred flesh came in contact with the rough plaster. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up the wall into an upright position, pausing, then drawing his legs underneath his body to get up completely. He stumbled and almost fell as his broken ribs screamed in protest, but he managed to finally stand on his own feet again. The muscles in his legs actually trembled, he could feel them twitching underneath his goosepumped yet sweatcovered skin.

Standing upright nauseated him, his stomach heaving, cramping. There must have been some really serious damage done inside his abdomen, hell, his whole body. He needed to get going as long as he still could. He didn't dare move straight through the room, he wasn't sure he remembered the path they had taken and how they had moved him during this whole ordeal. Also he didn't trust his body would be able to keep upright without the support of anything to lean against just yet. The safest way was moving along the wall, this way he eventually had to find the door they'd entered through.

He started moving to his left, keeping his shoulder pressed to the wall because this seemed to be the side less damaged. Still both shoulders seemed to be mangled badly from carrying his dead weight for god knew how long and he only had chosen the smaller of two evils.

He had to stop every two steps or so, fighting for breath,- already. His only luck had been that his nose wasn't broken, otherwise he most definitely would have suffocated by now. He stepped onto something sharp, a stone or shard, shrank back as the object dug deep into the skin and flesh of his sole. Where the hell were his shoes? Had they actually taken his fucking shoes away? That was just freaking great – it wasn't as if he had nothing else to worry about…

He kept going, even more carefully this time, probing the floor lightly before stepping on it. It took forever and he already started to think that he had actually missed the door, when the wall finally gave way and he stumbled the few inches into the opening of the doorway. To his immense surprise, the door actually gave in to his weight, swinging outwards and Dean tumbled with it, hitting the ground hard. He cried out, his body trembling in agony.

At least, he was outside.

He felt packed earth underneath him, bare chest pressed against it.

At least, he was outside.

It took a couple of minutes as well as all his strength and determination to get onto his feet again. The air was cold, clear. There was no other sound than the usual sounds of the night. No cars, no humming of electricity. He was somewhere in the canyons, god only knew where, probably miles away from the next habitation.

If he just kept walking, he ran the danger of getting off the road, falling into a crevice,- gone for good. But in not trying he certainly wouldn't find any salvation anyhow. He started walking.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

He tried to focus his thoughts on every single survival training he had ever gone through with his dad, with Sammy. All those times that his dad had taken them camping – how he hated camping - left them somewhere in the woods, had them find their way back to camp by themselves. Of course, his dad had always been close by, somehow, had always known where his boys were at the moment. And, of course, he hadn't been alone, Sammy always there to back him up. Not that the little squid had been much of a back-up back then, but still, just him being there had been enough most of the time. It saved him from being alone and if that was all it did, it was still well worth it.

And of course, come to think of it, he had never been blindfolded either.

He hadn't lived here long enough to explore the area, had no clue where exactly, or even roughly, he was. It was only supposed to be one of their many stops along to way to god knew were. They weren't really supposed to get used to the area unless they investigated for a hunt of some sort. For all he knew, he could fall into some crevice, canyon, or lake any second now, or walk straight onto a highway and get run over by a car. He wasn't sure if he was still walking on the path they had come on, the ground felt rough, sharp stones cutting into the soles of his feet.

This must have definitely still been some kind of road, at least he hadn't bumped into a tree yet. He stumbled onward weakly, ignoring the pain in his whole body, fighting down the terrible fear. Waves of shivers washed over him with every painful breath he took, his upper body slumped awkwardly forward to hold his balance which was surprisingly hard with his hands tied behind his back, his eyes blinded.

There was no sense of time anymore, he might have been walking for minutes, or hours already. He stepped onto a twig, caught his balance, but the pain this movement elicited brought him to his knees. He sank forward awkwardly, unable to control a sudden surge of nausea that overpowered him, made him cough.

He prayed that he didn't need to throw up, nostrils flaring. It just hurt so much… The cramps in his abdomen made getting back up almost impossible, even more so with nothing to use for support or leaverage like a wall or tree. This had to be a good sign, though, it had to mean that he was still on the road. Dean took two steps, stopped again.

Was he still walking in the right direction? There was no way to know. What if he was walking back towards where he just came from?

Just keep walking…If you move, they can't get you…

Dean staggered forward, tried to concentrate on his surroundings, listening for any sound which did not naturally belong there. Exhaustion was weighing heavily on him, not only pain now wearing him down, but weakness making his movements unstable.

His shoulder pushed against something, not very hard, but even this slight touch threw him off balance and it took close to all his remaining strength to stay on his feet. But with the next step he again ran into something,- far bigger this time and with a surge of panic he realized that he had wandered off the path and straight into the woods.

Fuck…no…

Again he felt the familiar constriction of his throat, the shortness of breath that followed the first flickers of an attack. Not being able to breathe through his mouth made matters everything but better. Cold sweat was breaking out of every free pore of skin while he blindly stumbled back towards where he thought he'd come from. He heard the desperate groans that left his mouth muffled by the gag, was dangerously near to start yelling for help again.

He fell down twice, knocked over by low hanging branches and high-growing roots, ignoring the searing pain, pushing himself up and on until suddenly his right foot didn't hit ground when it was supposed to. A white hot pain shot through his right ankle as Dean's whole weight came down on it, twisted to the side, caught in an entanglement of brush and stones. Dean hit the ground hard, landing on his side, heard a loud snap in his ankle, an even louder crack as his chest collided with the ground.

His body helplessly skidded down a slope, not very far probably, but ever the more painful. He tried to stop his glissade by digging his feet into the earth and finally succeeded. He lay there for a second or two, before realization set in.

This time, Dean screamed.

He tasted bile rising up his throat, gagging him, kept screaming for he didn't know how exactly to

handle the deafening screams of pain racking through his body. The taste of blood mixed in with the bile in his mouth and he knew that he had to stop, had to get a grip on himself…to calm down. His lungs screamed for air and any further exhaustion weakened them even more.

Dean rolled to his side, pulling his knees as close to his chest as possible, into a fetal position because that seemed to be the least painful at the moment, sobbing, waiting. The pain just wouldn't subside. He felt dizzy, blood rushing through his head, could hear his own heartbeat drumming forcefully in his ears. He couldn't take this much longer…

Come on, Dean, you have to stay strong…you have to get back to Dad, to Sammy…you know that they are eventually going to kill each other without you there as consiliator…both too damn stubborn to be able to work things out by themselves…

He felt his breath hiching in his throat.

Nononononono, can't leave Sammy on his own…what with Dad gone so much…

He practically screamed at himself to stop, stop bawling like a baby and pull himself together.

Get a grip, damnit…

The world seemed to be turning around him, slowly at first but soon picking up more speed. Dean dug his face into the soft, cool earth, trying to steady, to ground himself. He prayed that he'd loose consciousness, just for a little while…

After what seemed and felt like an eternity, finally, his prayers were answered.

Tbc

_So, hope you liked it…next chapter is as good as ready and should be up in no time, if you like…_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Ok, lets get Dean out of this mess, shall we?_

Chapter 4

A light rain had started to fall, small droplets hitting Dean's face and bare chest, rousing him while slowly but steadily soaking through his hair and jeans. He was so very cold. His body wouldn't stop shivering, muscles aching from the tiny tremors, his whole body yearning for peace, for the pain to stop.

He didn't want to give up, he really wanted to fight, but it certainly felt much easier to just let go than having to haul his battered body up again, forcing himself to go on. But he had to. He had to get to Sam.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if his dad was even at home or again out on a hunt. No, he was fairly sure that he was home, he just had to be. Someone had to be there for Sammy… There was no way he was going to give up just now, not after all he had gone through.

He shifted his weight a little, testing how much he could move. He rolled onto his stomach, sucking in his breath, moaning, pausing. Then he pulled first one knee underneath his body, then the other. The cramps torturing his abdomen stopped any further movement for a couple of minutes. He wanted so badly to roll to his side again, curl up and go back to sleep. But he stood his ground.

As soon as he'd gathered enough strength for his next move, he pushed himself up, failing, trying again. Putting weight on his ankle was close to impossible, he whimpered painfully with the first step he took, slumped against a tree. He fought to steady his breathing, tried to calm it down, to breathe shallowly so the pain would be kept to a minimum.

Then he pushed onward, limping heavily now, groaning with every step. He stumbled from one tree to the next, no idea where he was going, just pushing on, not even thinking that he might be moving ever deeper into the forest. He'd move until he dropped, that was all he could do. At least he would die fighting, make his dad proud, this once.

Sammy…

The trees seemed to be getting sparser. How long had he been walking? It felt like hours, but surely he wouldn't have been able to stay on his feet this long.

Some kind of bush stopped him, almost made him fall. He carefully manoeuvred his way around it, again felt sharp stones pierce the soles of his feet. Where was he? Suddenly the ground was smoother, colder, another texture. His feet were cut up so badly that he couldn't actually make out what he was really feeling. He stopped short in his tracks.

Could it be?

Could this really be?

He stood there like glued to the ground, not knowing what to do. His ears were ringing from exhaustion and his own heartbeat vibrated dully in his head. At first he didn't hear the sound quickly approaching him. When he finally did, it was already too late for him to react.

A horn suddenly started blaring, breaks shrieking and he could basically feel the car skidding towards him, felt the road vibrating through the soles of his feet. Everything happened far too fast, his head suddenly spinning, with fear, exhaustion, relief…then his knees gave way and he slumped helplessly to the floor.

He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…"

Marie sat in her car like stone, hands still on the steering wheel, fingers cramped around it, eyes staring blindly trough the windshield.

"Oh my god, please, please, let it be a deer…just a deer…"

She thought about all the horror movies she'd seen, together with her son, where the trouble always started when a lone woman stopped her car in the middle of nowhere, to help some stranger she'd hit and supposedly injured. That woman was always the first to die, the first victim before the story could actually unravel. This was nonsense,…she had to check, had to make sure what she'd hit.

If it was a man, or a woman, she had to help. There was no way she would be able to keep a clear conscience if she'd just drive on now. She got out of the car. She shielded her eyes from the rain that had now reduced to a weak, but steady drizzle and slowly stepped around the car door towards the hood of the car.

A dark figure lay on the road about a meter in front of the car, turned to it's side, his front illuminated by the headlights.

"Oh my god…"

Definitely not a deer…

Instinctively, she checked the front of her car, trying to locate where she'd hit him. It took a second or two before the realisation set in.

"What in god's name…"

She hesitantly knelt down next to the body, her hands shaking as she carefully reached out for him. She wanted to touch him, check his vitals to make sure he was still alive. Then she saw his nostrils flaring, ever so slightly, but at least a sign of life. Suddenly, the boy seemed to stir, nostrils flaring wider, his jaw working visibly beneath the gag. Her hand stopped short.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean trembled with utter exhaustion as he tried to lift his head off the concrete. He couldn't quite remember what had happened. Had he been hit by the car? Or had he just passed out?

The pain was roaring though his body now, there was no way he would be able to get back onto his feet again. He groaned between clenched teeth, tried to roll over to calm down the cramps in his abdomen. Then, suddenly, he heard the voice.

"Hello,…can…can you hear me?"

He wanted to scream, make her understand, wanted to beg her to take the tape off his mouth. The only sound he managed to make was a feeble moan.

Please, just take it off…

She obviously didn't dare to touch him.

"I…I'm going to call for help,…all right? I will call for a doctor…just, just don't be afraid…ok? I'll be right back, I'll just get my phone from the car…"

Dean didn't want her to leave. He was cold and in so much pain, he didn't want to be left alone again. The rain was falling steadily now, drenching his pants, running in rivulets down his . A convulsing shiver ran through him, making him groan painfully.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Marie stood up, ready to get back behind the wheel to call for help when she saw the brutal shiver shaking the beaten body. She hesitated, then quickly took off her Donna Karen jacket, hardly big enough to cover anything even on her own slim body, and draped it carefully over the boy's shoulder, leaving her hand on him for just a second longer, reassuring him. Then she ran back to her car, desperately searching her bag for her mobile, finally gripping the whole bag while pulling the little handle that popped the trunk.

She used the handbag to cover her head from the rain as she went around to the back of the car, pulling out the spare blanket she kept there for picnics. She then hurried back to the boy's side, spread the blanket over his trembling, battered body while at the same time emptying the contents of her bag onto the wet street, finding her portable and punching in the emergency number.

While the dial tone rang in her ears, she unconsciously reached out her hand, running it absentmindedly over the kid's wet forehead.

"Don't worry, everything will be alright. Help's on the way…"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

At first the touch startled him, he instinctively shied away from it, but she didn't retreat and soon he not only accepted it, but actually started to yearn for it, lean into it. He heard her voice, talking to him at first, warm and soothing then changing suddenly, speaking urgently as she'd apparently reached the emergency number.

A coughing fit shook him, the tremors raking his body getting heavier by the minute. The blanket that she had put over him didn't warm him much, but at least it kept the rain off his skin, away from his burning wounds. All he could do now was wait until help arrived.

Why wouldn't she take the damn tape off?

Couldn't she see that he couldn't breathe?

She'd probably taken one of those first-aid-classes, where they told people not to touch the victims, not to move them, not to remove any object from the body. But this was different. Couldn't she see that this was different?

Dean whimpered, groaned. He collected the last bits and pieces of strength he could summon, focused them on staying awake and breathing. He listened to her voice taking to him about something and even though he didn't get the meanings of her words he still was thankful that she was there, stayed with him, touched him. It must have taken forever, though, until he could finally hear the wails of sirens in the distance. Relief flooded his body, made his head go light.

He wanted so badly, with every sinew of his body, to just let go. He forced himself to think of Sam, he would be lost without him, completely alone. He couldn't let that happen. His little brother needed him, more than anyone, to watch out for him, to make sure he was safe.

As the sirens drew closer, he slowly drifted away, leaving all the pain and fear behind, Sam's face firmly imprinted in his mind.

_Tbc – thanks for reviewing, you guys rock!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 6

_First off – thanks for all the wonderful and supporting reviews – sorry I couldn't answer them all, but believe me, they are greatly appreciated._

_I don't know if I'm supposed to mention that I still don't own them…but just in case – I don't!!_

_So, here is chapter 5 – hope you like it…_

Chapter 5

By the times John's phone rang, he was already more than just a little on edge.

He had been pacing the small confinement of their living room/motel room for hours on end, calling Dean's cell for the 20th time, only to immediately reach his voicemail – just like every single time before.

Sam had wisely decided to stay out of his dad's way, seated in the corner of the old, threadbare sofa, clutching a book tightly in his hands, but he hadn't turned one single page in at least 2 hours now. He was worried just as sick as John, maybe even more so. John was worried, alright, but he was also mad as hell and Sam prayed feverishly that Dean had a really, really good reason to have stayed away like that.

Then again, if he had a reason, a legitimate one, it probably meant that he was hurt…or worse…

The ringing of the phone stopped John short in his step, staring at the display for a couple of seconds. Sam had lowered his book, nervously chewing his lower lip, waiting for his dad to do something. The way he just stared at the display, not picking up and immediately inquiring in this marine-voice of his only served to proof that it wasn't Dean calling. The caller ID showed "caller unknown".

"Hello" John picked up finally, not mentioning his name, because you never knew who would be calling and you never knew which alias you had to dish out, which fake ID to use.

"Hello, this is Sheriff Marshal speaking. I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I would need to speak to Mr Webster?"

OK, so this was about Dean. Webster was the alias they all had in common, for cases just like this one, for official reasons.

"Yes, that would be me, John Webster…is this about my son?"

"Sir, can you tell me your son's name please?"

"His name is Dean, Dean Win… Webster. He's 16 years old, brown hair, greenish eyes…"

John's voice trailed off, takling a deep breath, waiting, hoping.

"Sir, I'm afraid we've found your son." It was a short statement, spoken matter-of-factly.

A cold shiver ran down John's spine. He shot a quick look over at Sam, who was hanging on his every word, then cleared his throat, fearing, what would come next.

"Is he all right?"

Like he didn't already know…

"No, I'm afraid he is not. Mr. Webster, you son was brought into the emergency room about two hours ago. He's been found up at Laurel Canyon road, a woman found him there and called an ambulance…"

"How bad is it? Did he have a car accident?" John interrupted the Sheriff impatiently. _Get to the point, damn it!_

"Mr. Webster, your son wasn't in a car, when he was found. His condition…it's kind of complicated, we don't really know what exactly happened to him. Sir, I think it would be best if you could come to the hospital as soon as possible, I'm sure the doctors can explain a lot better and maybe they know more once you get there. I'm really sorry but all that I can tell you at this point is, that his condition is rather critical…"

John actually sat down, running a shaking hand though his shaggy hair, again checking on his youngest who still sat, frozen, tears already brimming in his eyes, his book turned over on the floor, long forgotten. He tried to give his boy a reassuring smile, not being too successful, he was afraid.

"He at the County?" John finally asked, voice back under control, nodding at the answer he received.

"OK, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

John hadn't wanted to bring Sam along, but there was no way his youngest was to be left behind. John knew that he was as terrified for his brother's safety as he was. Besides, as long as he didn't know what had done this to his boy, there was no way he would leave his 12 year old behind all by himself.

They had made it to the hospital in record time, entering the emergency room barely 10 minutes after he had hung up the phone. John deposited Sam in a plastic chair in the empty waiting room, instructing him harshly not to leave until he came back, no matter what. Sam nodded, eyes bright with tears and drew his legs towards his chest, hugging them tightly.

John saw the hurt and fear in his son's eyes and sighed heavily, kneeling down in front of him, taking his face between his big hands. He forced the boy to look at him, his eyes softening as he smiled painfully at his youngest.

"I'm sorry Sam, I didn't mean to snap at you…it's just that I'm worried about your brother. But I'm sure he'll be alright. He's Dean right?! Goddamn stubborn and strong. He won't just give up…he wouldn't dare to leave us alone. He knows I would never forgive him if he'd leave us…"

A weak and teary smile built on Sam's face and the boy nodded bravely, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

"He'll be alright, Sam, I'll see to that!"

John got back onto his feet, ruffling Sam's too long hair affectionately before turning towards the nurse's station.

"I'll check on your brother and be back in a minute…"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

The nurse on duty ushered John into one of the smaller waiting cubicles next to the nurse's station.

"My other son…he's waiting over there…"

"Sir, I really think you should talk to the doctor alone. I'll make sure the boy is alright, I'll watch him for you, OK?"

John nodded reluctantly. One look at his watch told him it was already well past 4 am. The kid must have been exhausted, he hadn't slept a wink this night. And when exactly was the last time Sam had eaten? Well, he would worry about that later, getting to know about Dean was clearly his priority at the moment.

He was kept waiting for over 10 minutes and just as he was about to go bolting from the room, demanding to see his son, now, the door opened and a tall black man in his early 50s walked in, stopped to extend a freshly scrubbed hand towards John while gesturing with the other hand to two of the chairs along the wall, inviting him to sit. He wore surgery scrubs over his white pants and t-shirt, a little blood smeared across the front - Dean's blood?

The doctor gave John a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his tired eyes, nodding towards the door of the room.

"Mr. Webster, my name is Dr. Parker, I am your son's attending doctor. That your other boy out there, Sammy?"

John nodded, the surprise as to the doctor knowing Sam's name plainly written across his features. Dr. Parker smiled again, folding his hands in his lap.

"I was told by the paramedics that Dean kept calling his name, demanding to see him, to be taken to his little brother to make sure he was OK before they could bring him to the ER."

John had to smile despite the growing dread that was gradually building in his chest, threatening to suffocate him. But this was just so like Dean, worrying about his little brother while being hurt himself, putting Sam's needs above his own, always wanting to protect him before all else. John felt an unconscious twinge of guilt at the realisation that he himself was responsible for his oldest son's over protectiveness towards his baby brother. He had to be held liable for Dean's refusal to think of himself before thinking about others, especially Sammy, even when the situation clearly demanded it.

"Yeah, that sounds like Dean alright."

He smiled painfully, waiting for the Dr. Parker to continue. Surely it couldn't be too bad if Dean had still been able to try to argue his way out of a situation and make demands, if he'd been awake…

"I don't know if Sheriff Marshal filled you in on how he was found already?"

Upon seeing John shake his head the doctor took a deep breath and continued.

"This is going to be hard now, but your son was found standing in the middle of Laurel Canyon Road, wearing nothing but his jeans, shirt and shoes were gone. His hands were bound behind his back with some kind of cable binders and his eyes and mouth had been taped shut with isolation tape…we don't really know what happened, but he seemed to have been wandering the woods for quite a while, his feet were cut and bruised… This woman almost ran him over, claimed he just stumbled onto the road out of nowhere. She didn't actually hit him, but he collapsed then and she called the ambulance, stayed with him until they came."

John felt tears welling up in his eyes, crushed by the thought of his boy lying there on the street, in the rain, and him not being there for him. He knew that, despite his cocky manners and big mouth Dean really did fear to be left behind, to be alone and his mind immediately filled with enormous gratefulness towards this stranger that had stayed with his boy, comforting him when he must have been terrified to say the least.

"I'm really sorry to tell you this, but right now, his condition is…rather critical, I'm afraid. He must have been…beaten, tortured pretty badly. As I already mentioned before, his eyes and mouth had been taped shut with duct tape,- the chemicals of the tape have caused some skin-abrasions especially in the area in and around the eyes. The paramedics were forced to remove the tape covering his mouth in the ambulance when he started to choke…that's when he started to call or his little brother. We've removed the rest of the tape in the ER but his eyes have suffered some from the glue, there are some bad swellings and corrosions.

Both wrists are cut deeply from the cable binders he was bound with, his right wrist broken, as well as three fingers of the same hand. Both his shoulders and one elbow were dislocated, cuts and bruises all over his body, deeper cuts, as if from a knife or some kind of whip all across his back, chest and abdomen.

5 ribs are broken at least once, at least as many cracked or bruised. A punctured lung, a serious concussion, cuts and puncture wounds on the soles of his feet, which were bare when he was found, as was his chest. The tendons in his right ankle are torn. What worries us the most, though, is that he has suffered extensive internal injuries. His whole abdomen is filled with blood and we are currently still trying to locate the source of the bleeding. Dean has lost a lot of blood, he is extremely weak, hasn't been conscious since he was brought into the hospital."

The room went deadly quiet. John was at a loss for words. He racked his hands through his thick hair, running them over his face, his neck.

"What,…what does that mean…what's going to happen to him?"

"He is being prepared to go into surgery as we speak. We need to find the source of the internal bleedings, try to stop them. Considering his weakened state, we'll only do what is absolutely necessary at the moment to get him through. He obviously is a strong kid, it's almost a miracle that he was still walking on his own account when he was found, considering the condition he was in…"

"Is there…anything, anything at all that I…we can do?"

"No, I'm afraid there is nothing you can do at the moment, except wait. Of course we will inform you immediately should his condition change…!"

His last words hung in the air until John suddenly got to his feet.

"I want to see him, before …I need to see him. Where is he?"

Dr. Parker got up, positioning himself between John and the door, hands up as if in surrender.

"I really don't think that this is a good idea at the moment. As I said before, he is being prepared to go into the OR within the next minutes. He won't even know you are there, he is unconscious, has already received part of the sedation…"

"Please, I just want to see him, just a minute. Just to make sure…I don't know, just to make sure it's really him, I guess…"

As if he didn't know that already. The hollow feeling in his gut was enough proof, if not the fact that he had been fighting with his life to make sure Sam was alright. But he just needed to make sure, just see him with his own eyes, to comprehend.

The doctor seemed highly uneasy but was unsure how to persuade John otherwise. And then again, would it really be right to keep him from seeing his own son? He had every right to do just that, after all, he really couldn't be sure that Dean would make it out of that OR… Dr. Parker could see the determination in the dark brown orbs of the man in front of him, the fear for his boy, the helplessness at not being able to support his son in this time of utter need. And he also saw something else, some dark anger, barely hidden beneath the surface, ready to boil at any moment. Even though the doctor knew that this anger was not directed at him as a person he still felt that this could be a very dangerous man to mess with.

"OK, I guess, you can see him for just one minute,- that is, if he is not already in the OR, all right?"

"OK, sure. Thank you, thanks a lot."

John's voice softened immediately as he realized that he might have offended the man that would soon be holding his son's life in his hands.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

John only had less than two minutes with his son before the surgery and most of those he had spent staring at the form on the gurney in front of him that he knew was his oldest son. He almost couldn't get himself to move over to him, because even though Dean's face was devoid of pain at the moment, no emotion visible through the heavy sedation and pain medication they kept him on, the terrible bruises that covered nearly every inch of visible skin spoke a whole different story and John didn't even want to think of what lay beneath the thin white sheets that covered Dean's body up to his chest.

He lay so still John had to take a step closer to see the gentle rise and fall of his son's chest. He had already been intubated, his arms pierced with IV's wherever there was a tiny patch of skin availably.

Finally, because he knew his time was almost up, John stepped next to his boy, his hand hovering inches over Dean's too pale forehead, not daring to touch when every atom of his being wanted nothing more than doing just that, to hold his son, scoop him up in his arms, hold him close and tell him that everything would be alright, that _he_ would make everything alright.

He looked so damn young and helpless, so…broken.

John chocked back the sob that had caught in his throat and very gently lowered his hand towards his son temple, only touching the bruised skin with the tip of his fingers, just enough so Dean would know he was there, if he was aware enough the still feel it. He bent down close to his son's face as a nurse stepped up behind him, ready to get Dean to the OR.

"You hang in there son, you hear me? You be strong and get better, that's an order, and one of the most important ones, OK? I'll be right here when you wake up."

And then, because he knew that Dean would want to hear it more than anything, he added softly:

"Sammy's here, too. We're not going anywhere without you, alright? You have to be strong now…"

John's voice finally broke at the last words and it surprised him more than he had thought to actually find tears slip down his cheeks and land softly on his son's bruised face. He couldn't wipe it away without touching broken skin so he just left it there to melt into Dean's skin. The nurse had stepped closer now, gently taking John's arm and leading him out of the room while two orderlies quickly wheeled his oldest son away, out of his grasp.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

They had given John and Sam one of those small cubicles they called family rooms, with a TV and some magazines and a box full of wrapped candy and canned sodas. When it started to get light outside the ER's waiting room slowly filled with people and they had ushered the two of them in there to give them some little bit of privacy. Sam was about ready to keel over by the time John had come back. He hadn't eaten any of the sandwiches the nice nightshift nurse had gotten for him and had refused to drink anything for fear of having to go to the bathroom if he did so and that would have meant to leave his chair and his dad had clearly forbidden that.

John had scooped up his youngest, compensating maybe a little for not being able to do the same for Dean before, had carried the half-asleep boy to the family room and settled him on the scratchy sofa that stood there instead of the hard plastic chairs outside.

Sam hadn't dared ask about his brother and his fathers silence only made his fear grow. John could see the utter terror in his son's eyes, the need to hear that his brother was going to be alright, that _they_ would be alright.

Yet John couldn't get himself to say anything at all, to give his son the comforting words he needed more than anything.

Neither could he tell him that his brother was fighting for his life right now, that it would take any bit of strength and willpower out of him to get through this. He knew that Dean meant everything to Sam, much more than a big brother normally meant to a boy, probably. His sons were so very close, taking care of each other in so many ways.

Dean wasn't _only_ a big brother to Sam, he was his friend, his ally, his backup, his everything.

How could he tell him that the only constant in both their lives was maybe not going to come back?

He just couldn't do that, it was simply not an option. Dean was a fighter, and if he didn't do it for himself, he'd do it for the only people that mattered to him. If John knew nothing else about his oldest son he knew this: he'd do everything, anything for his family.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam had fallen asleep curled up on his side some hours before, but John couldn't bring himself to relax enough to do the same.

Also, he now finally understood about Dean's former complaints about his little brother being a pain to share a bed with. Dean had once told his dad that Sammy sure as hell would grow to be huge one day because of the way he already took up most of the space of their shared beds during the night. Since they didn't always have the chance to get a room with 3 beds the two boys often had to share, much to Dean's dismay. Back than John had laughed at Dean. Sure, he was not small but not nearly the biggest kid his age.

Now, after a couple of hours on the sofa, his sleeping son next to him, he finally got it. While Sam had started off curled on his side, legs drawn up and away from John the boy now lay sprawled all over the uncomfortable piece of furniture, one heel digging into Johns thigh, the other leg draped over his lap with one arm dangling off the cushions to his side, the other extended above his head.

John watched the people bustling about outside his little cubicle with weary eyes. He didn't want to turn on the TV for fear of waking Sam, couldn't even get up to get a coffee because he didn't want to disturb his son. Also, he didn't want to leave him alone, god only knew what he would think if he woke up and found his father gone. Well, come to think of it, it hadn't been such an exceptional occurrence in the past. But in the past Dean had always been there to take care of him, so he didn't actually think that it registered most of the times. As long as his big brother had been there when he woke up, it was OK. Someone would make him breakfast, get him ready for school if need be, be there for him.

It was different now.

The nightshift nurse had come in as she ended her shift, bringing him a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate for Sam, her eyes full of sympathy.

"Sorry, no news yet."

Surely, this had to be a good sign. If he'd died…NO, he couldn't even think that. He'd be OK.

John tried to make sense of what had happened, tried to remember what little he had seen of Dean's injuries. What kind of creature would have done this to his son? The beatings and the torture, it had to have been some kind of demon, they would enjoy doing that. He'd have to wait until he could speak to his son, determine what had happened, find the place he had been taken to and start investigating and hunting this thing.

He was a man of action, the sitting and waiting was driving him mad.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dr. Parker came back more than 5 hours later and while he looked exhausted and least 10 years older than just a few hours before, he managed to force a small smile onto his face as he entered the room. He had been considerate enough to take off his bloody scrubs and John was more than grateful for that. Sam really didn't need to see this – he didn't need to see this.

The boy stirred at the sound of the door opening, pushing himself upright quickly, looking around confused. When he registered the doctor now seated across from them, his eyes grew wide with fear and he instinctively shuffled closer to his father, not quite touching him but needing to be close nonetheless.

John knew he should be sparing Sam the details, that this was nothing a 12-year-old should hear, but then again, his sons had seen things that most adults never get to see, did things that lay beyond what most people could ever imagine.

"That's one tough kid you got there."

John nodded, smiling sadly but his posture didn't relax visibly.

"We found the source of the internal bleedings…both his spleen and one of his kidneys were ruptured. It took us awhile, but as I said, your boy fought like a lion and we were finally able to still the bleedings. We were trying to save the organs, it still remains to be seen if we succeeded in the long run but for now it looks promising. He has lost an awful lot of blood and we're still working on getting the infection under control, we are administering strong antibiotics and pain medication. Right now he is not breathing on his own, due to the trauma to his ribs and chest in general and it will probably take a day or two until we can try to take him off the respirator. We've just moved him back to the ICU where he will be under constant surveillance."

"How long until we know…" John's voice trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"There really is no way to tell for certain. He is strong, but his condition is still critical and we really can just wait and see how it develops over the course of the next few days. As a rule I'd say that the next 48 hours should be some indicator of how things will be going. We'll just need to take it one step at a time from here on."

Sam was slumping slightly next to John and he finally reached over to place one arm around his son's shoulders.

"I need to see him."

Dr. Parker nodded weakly.

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

It was against hospital rules, they had made that clear, stated the fact just to make sure that he knew. But in reality nobody really tried to keep him from seeing his son and he was very thankful for that. The only thing he did need to set straight was with Sam, who practically jumped him when he told him that he wouldn't be able to see Dean, at least not right now. That was another one of those hospital rules but it was one they were not willing to bend for him. Minors were not allowed in the ICU – not as visitors that was.

"Why won't they let me see him? I'm his brother, they can't keep me from doing it!"

Sam stood in the corner of the room, next to the door, his arms folded defiantly across his chest, eyes dark with hurt and anger.

John sighed heavily, ran a hand over his face, through his hair, stared down at his son. He could relate to him on this point, but it was no use and frankly he didn't have the patience for another of his rants right now. It had always been so much easier with Dean, the boy would react to a simple order he gave him any time. Not Sam. He'd argue and fight and pout and they usually ended up arguing over the simplest of things. But this was definitely not simple.

"Listen Sam, I understand how you're feeling, I really do. But right now you've just got to do as I tell you and stay put. It won't help Dean if we're arguing about this right now. They made it clear that you are not to go in there and I actually agree with them on this one…"

"But I want to see him, just for a minute."

"Sam, no, not right now." John's voice had taken on an edge as he couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. Why could this boy never make it easy on him?

"He'd want me to be there, you know that…I'm always the one with him when he's sick. Half the time _you _are not even there."

That blow actually struck hard and Sam knew the moment he said it that it wasn't fair, and it definitely wasn't the right time. John had taken a step back as if hit in the face. It didn't quite help that he knew Sam to be right on this one. Still, this really wasn't the time to start an argument. Sam had hung his head, biting his lips nervously while tears sprang to his eyes.

Finally John went over and gave his youngest a somewhat awkward hug, holding him closer a bit longer than might have been necessary.

"'m sorry, dad…" Sam mumbled against his shoulder, feeling just a little better by this rare display of emotions from his father. John couldn't get himself to answer but squeezed his son a little tighter before getting back up.

"I'm going to see your brother now – make sure he's not alone. You just stay here and we'll figure something out later, OK?"

At Sam's nod he left the room to face his next challenge.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_I probably should mention again that English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes I made along the line._

_Also, I'm not a doctor or nurse or anything the like so the medical details are probably not correct, but then again, it's all just part of my imagination, so I hope it's not too far off…reviews are greatly appreciated – thanks for bearing with me!_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 7

_Ok, here it goes, the next chapter. Thanks to everyone still reading and special thanks to all of those who took the time to review…you really keep me going here – it's amazing!_

Chapter 6

Minutes were turning into hours, hours dragging painfully into days. John Winchester wouldn't be John Winchester if he didn't get his way. The originally granted 15 minutes with his oldest son had turned into hours before he had even noticed. He had simply refused to give up his post close to his son, sat wedged in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed, barely able to tear his eyes away from the broken form in the bed in front of him but at the same time wishing, praying not to be forced to look at him anymore.

Those times they had finally forced him out of the room, when changing Dean's bandages, attend to his wounds, change the bedding, he had gone to Sam, gradually filling him in on his brother's condition, feeding it to him in small scraps. He knew that Sam was going to find out eventually, would insist on seeing his brother sooner that he would like, and he had to be prepared. Between his two sons all John really needed was some sleep, some time to wind down, but he didn't have that time now, he was going to have to just pull through this. He wasn't going to rest until he was sure Dean would be OK.

And then he'd go out and destroy the thing that did that to him.

John had eventually succeeded in sending Sam back to the motel the day before, under loud, angry and teary protest, but he couldn't worry about both of his son's at this time and even if it meant leaving his youngest unattended it still was better than having him wander the halls of the hospital, sleeping on plastic chairs and old sofas. He had also succeeded in befriending the motel owner, a nice elderly woman, who had agreed to look after Sam, cook for him and keep him company until he would be able to finally see his brother…until Dean would be better.

Now, going onto day three, John slowly felt despair getting the better of him. Dean hadn't regained consciousness since being admitted, the doctors had been careful in their predictions, or rather, putting him off. The boy had started to run a fever the day before – infection, as the doctors had reluctantly informed him. It had to be expected, what with his wounds being dirtied during his escape through the forest. Still, they didn't look happy about it and the antibiotics they were pumping into him didn't seem to have the effect they were hoping for.

The boy was sleeping restlessly now, all the peace of the first days gone, the pain now written clearly across his drawn features. His eyes were shut tightly, a fine sheen of sweat covering his face, neck, arms. His hands still lay immobile on the sheets, but his throat was working, split and swollen lips apparently fighting against the respirator that was still helping him to breath.

John reached out a hand, placing it soothingly on Dean's forearm, gently rubbing his thumb in circles to let his son know he was there. But his touch didn't seem to have the desired effect, on the contrary, the boy got even more restless, muscles involuntarily flexing under hot, clammy skin, his head moving ever so slightly, the beeping of the heart monitor picking up speed. John didn't pull away, holding the contact but couldn't help thinking that Sam would probably be able to calm his brother much better that he could.

_"He'd want me to be there, you know that…I'm always the one with him when he's sick. Half the time you are not even there."_

Of course, Sam had been right. Dean was always adamant to keep his aches and pains under lock and key, to keep them from both his father and his brother. But Sam had always been able to read his big brother so much better than John, the two of them tuned into each other so finely that it sometimes made him wonder if they were ever able to keep _anything_ from each other. It went well past any "normal" brother-brother relationship and John knew that he was responsible for that.

They were hardly ever given the chance to make friends, have normal friendships like kids their age should have, not with the lifestile they led. You couldn't do that if you had to keep secrets from those you are supposed to trust, if you kept moving every couple of weeks or months at best. So the boys had been forced to learn to trust each other and only each other. Apart from school they spent as good as any spare time with each other, learning, playing, training, hunting…sharing a bedroom and many times even a bed…they were bound to end up knowing the other almost better than themselves.

John though back to the few times he had actually seen Dean sick, the few times he had been able to be there anyway and he knew that Dean never did good with fevers. Some people just slept through them, some got restless and agitated, and so did his oldest son. He would toss and turn and talk incoherently, get paranoid and not let anyone touch him without putting up a fight.

Anyone but Sam.

John remembered one of the times he had been there to see his son through a nasty fever, remembered how helpless and even angry he had felt as he had not been able to calm his own son down enough to stop him from hurting himself, to stop working himself into a frenzy. He had left then to get some more supplies, turning his back, leaving Sam to watch over Dean and had found the younger boy sitting on bed next to his brother upon his return, one hand on Dean's forehead, rubbing soothing circles between his eyes with one hand while holding his arm still with the other. And Dean had actually been relaxed then, turning into the touch of the small hands, succumbing to the soothing words being spoken, words that John hadn't been able to hear.

How he wished for Sam to be here now. But he knew that it wasn't an option, not at the moment. So he forced himself to stay where he was, not finding words to say to his own son but instead just sitting there and willing him with just his presence to calm down, to pull through this. He had never been good at talking. Giving orders he could do, but talking was somehow… He'd been able to talk to Mary but ever since her death…still, Dean would understand. He always seemed to.

They increased his pain meds and changed the antibiotics when his condition didn't change by the next morning.

More waiting then, more hours to pass.

He was lying on one of those special mattresses, to ease the strain on his injured back. Because of the broken ribs and overall bad condition of his chest and abdomen lying on his front was not an option. His temperature climbed up past 104, the heat radiation off the boy's body in angry waves. They had to change the sheets on the bed every couple of hours now, sweat soaking through his hospital gown and linens again almost immediately after changing them.

Dr. Parker came to talk to him, told him that they had to wait it out now, nothing else they could do at the moment, that Dean was still stronger than most people in his condition would have been. Funny, how that did make him proud of his son, him being strong just as John had always taught him to be but at the same time it didn't help one bit, didn't ease the burden of watching his son suffer and not being able to ease the weight on his shoulders ever so slightly. What made it even worse was the knowledge that even if Dean finally did wake up it really wasn't over, that he'd be in so much pain, that he would still need to fight. But they'd deal with it when it came to that, they'd be alright.

They were Winchesters after all.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

It started with a sound somewhere far off in the distance and he felt himself slipping away from sweet oblivion back into reality. Someone was calling his name, which he didn't actually hear but it still did register somehow. He was confused, almost unwilling to give up what was actually a pretty nice state of unawareness, but somehow his mind refused to stay where it was so at peace at at the moment and slowly but steadily drifted towards the somehow familiar sound.

Then, there was a touch, like a bolt of lightening, shooting up his left arm and his brain was suddenly flooded with images, feelings, memories and with a painful gasp he was jolted back into…well, life he thought, even though he hadn't been dead, right? But with his mind coming back to awareness so did his body and it certainly felt as if he should be dead, as if his body would be more than willing to give up the fight.

He tried to open his eyes and found that he couldn't, he must be blindfolded still. OK, this couldn't be good. He tried to remember…remember anything at all. He had woken up and then…then he had walked, stumbled, rather, through the woods…right? He had escaped, hadn't he? The questions raced through his head, tumbled over, blended into each other. He tried to draw in a desperate breath but again, he couldn't.

He hadn't gotten away, was still there, bound and gagged, helpless, hurt…

And god, did he hurt.

The touch was still there, someone holding on to his arm with what felt like a vice-like grip.

He screamed, in his head at least he screamed, but his air-supply was so limited, somehow regulated and the gag in his mouth seemed to not just be over his mouth but ran all the way down his airway.

In his head he put up the fight of his life, hitting and spitting and screaming bloody murder. But for the world to see his lips only closed around the respirator a little tighter than before, his throat working to make sounds that never escaped, the muscles in his arms twitching but never throwing out the blows and punches that he worked so hard on delivering.

This fight was his own to fight, nobody there to back him up, nobody there to bear witness.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean didn't get better.

By the end of that third day he still hadn't regained consciousness, and they hadn't been able to bring his fever down to a reasonable level for any longer stretch of time. Nobody would come out in the open and actually tell him, but John could see it in the way they didn't look at him, avoided eye contact, in the way the nurses and doctors kept looking at his son with such pity.

They didn't think he was going to make it.

They didn't see what he did, though, didn't know his son like he did. Dean was fighting with everything he had, which was a lot, was fighting like the hunter he was, the soldier he had been taught to be. He couldn't lose his son, he just couldn't.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

What would they do without him?

Dean, in a way, was the last link he had to Mary, to the life they once had. He and his oldest son shared memories of his wife, Dean's mom, that Sam could never understand. There were things they had done, together, as a family or simply as father and son, most of them before Sam was even born. John had taken Dean to his first baseball game, they'd played football in the yard, gone fishing, had built this stupid tree-house that had broken down the first winter it encountered.

They'd had family outings – going to picnics or even camping together, nothing like the survival training it would later turn out to be, but actual, pleasant family trips. They'd been to the zoo and the playground in the park, had even gone to Disneyland once, when Dean had been barely 3.

He remembered when Mary had taught Dean to dance, right in the middle of their kitchen, to some Johnny Cash song, John sitting in his favourite chair, watching them with admiration, clapping his hands to help Dean keep the beat.

His wife and son baking brownies, John sitting at the table working through some papers, Dean standing on tiptoes on a chair at the counter, making more of a mess than helping, Mary laughing at something he had said. Dean had always been such a happy kid, always laughing, making them laugh… She had been pregnant already, he remembered her swollen belly pressing against the counter, specked with flour, only a couple of months to go before their life would be even more perfect than it already was – another baby, a little brother for Dean…less than a year before it would all break apart, their family forever shattered.

John didn't bother to hide his tears or wipe them away. There was no one there to keep up the pretence for. Sometimes he envied Sam, for all his memories of the "normal" life they once had were really not his own. Sure, he had heard stories of his mom, had seen pictures, but he didn't have any own memories of her to hang on to. The things he knew were from Dean, mostly, the boy feeding his little brother bits and pieces, trying to make him understand.

Sam didn't actually know what he had lost and while this not knowing was something terrible to be sure, at least he never had to deal with the feeling of loss, never really knowing what had been taken away from them that night 12 years ago. John could only pray to whoever was willing to listen that his youngest would never have to experience it in person.

If Dean…if he didn't…Jesus…if he didn't make it through this, then Sam would have to deal with just this kind of loss, he'd have to face something he shouldn't have to face, ever. Losing someone he loved more than anyone else, his brother, his whole life. Dean had practically raised the kid, a life without his big brother…John just didn't think that Sam could take it.

He didn't think that he himself could take it.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

A sound from the bed ripped him out of his heartbreaking thoughts, snapped him right back into reality. He shot up, rushing over to his son, desperately looking for the source of the sound.

Dean again lay bathed in sweat, his forehead wrinkled in distress. His head jerked suddenly, pushing back against the pillow, his back arching while hands dug into the mattress below them.

The nurses had put a cool, wet cloth over his eyes earlier to sooth the raw and swollen skin and John hurriedly pulled the cloth away now, searching for any sign that his son was awake while trying to hold him down with his other. But Dean's face was still swollen so badly, his eyes unable to open even if he'd been awake. There was just no way to tell for sure.

"Shhhhh, Dean, no, stop. It's alright, alright, stop this, please, you're scaring me…" he pleaded softly.

He threw the cloth to the floor, grabbing for the call button and pressing it frantically while fighting to still his son's writhing form. The boy's arms shot up, his right one, the one in the cast, dropping again almost instantly with an obvious sound of pain, pressed through cracked lips that now closed even more tightly over the tube of the respirator. The other hand reached up for the offending object crammed into his mouth, fingers too stiff and weak to pull it out but trying nonetheless.

A shrill beep rang out from behind him, apparently emanating from the ventilator the respirator was attached to and John felt his heart skip in his chest as he realized that his son must be cutting off his own air supply in biting down on the tube in his mouth.

"Dean – no…HELP – I NEED HELP IN HERE!"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

tbc

_**AN:**_

_I hope I'm not trying you too much here, but the next chapter is done already – just trying to read through it a couple of more times, get those damn typos of the way and sort out my scrambled thoughts some more…and yeah – I know, cliffies suck – I personally hate them, be it on tv or in stories, but hey – I just discovered I actually love writing them…But I promise – the updates is not too far away! _

_I can't wait to hear what you think – but please be nice, I need it! I had a somewhat rough weekend and really could do with some back-rubbing here… ;-)_

_Ok, I'll stop rambling now and go work on the next chapter!_


	7. Chapter 7

Three days ago…how long could three days actually feel…three days ago he had been driving this same way, just going the opposite direction

_Still don't own them – what a shame…_

Chapter 7

Three days ago…he had never thought that three days could feel so damn long…three days ago he had been driving this same way, just going the opposite direction. His heart had been heavy then, filled with dread and fear. Back then he hadn't thought that these feelings could get any worse. How wrong he had been then.

He pulled up in front of the motel's office, killed the engine and just sat there for a couple of minutes, just breathing. He felt like turning around right then and there, going somewhere – anywhere, to not have to be forced to face up to this anymore. He was beyond tired, his body working on it's last reserves. There was only so much one could take, after all. He couldn't push himself forever, he'd have to rest soon, get some sleep, eat something, for crying out loud.

He took a deep breath, pushed the driver's door open and folded his tall form out of the truck, his knees almost giving out on him. The lights in the front office were still on despite the fact that it was already close to 8 am and the sun was up and shining. John slammed the door shut and walked into the small room, a door on the far end opening to a small kitchen and some cramped living quarters beyond, the manager's apartment.

A small bell announced his entrance and he waited calmly until he heard the sound of feet shuffling towards the front office, Mrs. Bishop appearing through the door, expecting an early customer. Her eyes widened at the sight of the tall man standing there, giving her a weak smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bishop. Sorry to bother you so early."

She shook her head, taking a step back into the kitchen, motioning for him to follow her.

"How is he holding up?" John asked quietly, following her invitation to sit at the table.

"He's trying to be brave, helping me out a lot. But he hasn't been sleeping too well, I'm afraid. I've put him up in my spare room, didn't want him staying in your unit all by himself."

John nodded thankfully at that. At least Sam hadn't been alone through all of this.

Mrs. Bishop placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and he immediately latched onto it, wrapping long fingers around the too hot porcelain.

"He's taking a shower right now, should be out any minute."

Again he just nodded, too tired to do much else. He wanted to tell her thank you, tell her how grateful he was for what she had done for him, for them, but he just couldn't.

She sat down opposite him, her eyes filled with deep sympathy, searching for his eyes, holding them.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, tell her what she apparently wanted to ask but had the decency not to, Sam entered the kitchen, still unaware of his father's presence. He was dressed in jeans and a fresh shirt, towel in hand and rubbing his wet hair. At the sight of his father he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

The room was eerily quiet for what seemed like minutes but was in truth just a couple of seconds at the most. Sam's eyes had widened, misting over instantly until John finally broke the paralysis, getting up to take a step towards his son. Sam dropped the towel and rushed over, folded into his father's embrace, something that he had not done since…forever, not with his father, anyway. Dean would often hold him like that, when he woke from a nightmare, when he worried about dad staying away for too long…

"Shhh…Sammy, shhh, it's alright, don't…it's alright…" unconsciously he repeated almost the same words he had spoken to sooth his other son some hours earlier, trying to calm him as much as himself.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

John's exhaustion was almost palpable, seeming to suffocate Sam as they sat in the car together. His dad hadn't been persuaded to rest, take an hour or two to wind down. Not that Sam had really tried, he wanted so badly, with every sinew of his body, to get up and leave. But now, sitting in the passenger's seat of John's truck he thought that maybe it would have been better to have him rest, after all. It wouldn't help them any if he drove them straight into the next ditch when finally passing out.

Well, maybe they would let them share a room with Dean then – let them stay with him for good.

He was jumpy with excitement, chewing his nails nervously, ignoring his dad's disapproving stares at the action. His excitement wasn't all good, though, thinking about everything his dad had told him about Dean's condition made his heart skip wildly in his chest, his eyes burning with unshed tears. But this was still better than sitting around some stranger's apartment, not knowing, fear eating away at your insides, not being able to do anything at all.

He could practically feel his brother calling out to him, over all the distance and through a haze of fear and pain.

He wished his father would drive even faster.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean hadn't actually woken up, that much the doctors had told John, but his body had picked up the fight against the hated machine that helped him to breathe with full force and all the Winchester stubbornness that he could muster. When John's shouting and the wild beeping of the ventilator had finally summoned a flock of nurses and doctors to his son's bedside it had soon become clear that the patient was actually trying to wake up, that his body was fighting to wake up and breathe on his own and it was only the panic that his drugged brain must have felt upon realizing that he could not breathe, could not open his eyes, that had send him into overdrive.

They had debated putting him on stronger sedation for a while, to make sure that he really was ready, but in the end Dr. Parker had voted against this option. If his body was willing to fight, against all odds, they should really give him a chance to do just that.

They had finally removed the tube, kept him under close surveillance for the next couple of hours, to make sure that the respirator could be inserted again instantly if the need arose. John had refused to leave his son's side through all of this, secretly he had been glad that Dean hadn't been awake when the tube had been removed, he remembered very clearly how terrible that felt from his own past experiences.

It hadn't been easy, that much was obvious, as the boy's breath was erratic and accompanied by terrible wheezing sounds at first, but at least he had stopped bucking and tossing and eventually his breath had evened out to a somewhat bearable rhythm. They had put an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose which was fogging over more or less steadily after a while. Pain and discomfort were still clearly written all over Dean's drawn features, but at least he was breathing on his own, at least he hadn't given up the fight.

The doctor had just been back to check on his patient again, John sitting by and watching every move the man made, when Dean had started to get restless again, his throat working fiercely, fingers searching for grip on the sheets. Both men had been on high alert instantly, thinking that the boy might be crashing again, his lungs not up to the task of providing enough oxygen for his battered body. But again, Dean had surprised them both when his lips had kept working on just what they had wanted to do all along, unconsciously forming the one word that had occupied his mind through all of this:

"Sam…"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

His voice had been raspy at best, barely above a whisper, further muffled by the mask that covered his mouth, but the word still rang loud and clear in the small room.

One word enough to tell them all that mattered to him right now, even though out cold and unconscious, the one person he needed to have by his side.

John didn't bother asking permission after that. He had been grateful for the doctor to have been there and witness his son asking for his brother, but in reality he couldn't have cared less, because there was absolutely no question in his mind as to whether or not to bring Sam to his brother's side anymore.

Dean needed him, and he would be there.

Dr. Parker had been too impressed still to raise any objections, had only assured John that Dean would not wake up for another couple of hours, at least until the last IV of pain medication and sedation ran out. Plenty of time to go and get Sam, have him at his brother's side in time for him to wake up.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam thought he had been prepared, had been given a good enough impression of what to expect. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen Dean hurt before, hell, he had plenty experience in that departement. Way too much experience, come to think of it, considering that his brother was only 16 years old. Sam himself had, on more than one occasion, tended to an injured Dean, stiched him up a couple of times, sat by him through almost every single recovery.

Still, he doubted he would never get used to the sight of his brother lying in a hospital bed and this sight right now was just about more than he could take. He gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat, felt his father's presence behind him.

John didn't push his son, let him go at his own pace.

Slowly, Sam went over to Dean's bed, circled it until he was at his brother's left side. This side of his face looked slightly better than the other one, which was disfigured badly by not only the swelling around the eye but also a dark, purple bruise than ran from the top of his temple down to his chin. There were several pads of gauze that hid the open gashes and cuts right above his eyebrow and along the jawline. They had taken away the cooling cloth covering his eyes for now, and Sam was shocked to realize that he had trouble recognizing his own brother's face.

Dean's short brown hair, usually sticking out ever which way, no doubt carefully crafted to look like that, now lay flat against his head, some strands sticking to his sweat-covered forehead. His usually strong and imposing form was basically smothered by all the equipment he was surrounded with, the tubes and needles and bandages shrinking the form of his big brother and giving him an almost childlike appearance, so fragile and young. Those were two adjectives that Sam had never thought to associate with Dean ever before.

His fever had gone down only a little and while he lay relatively still compared to what John had witnessed before, he was still slightly restless, his throat working noiselessly while his eyes rolled around wildly behind puffed up lids. The fingers of his left hand, scraped and bloody as they were, held a firm grip on a pice of crumpled up linens.

His skin was still far too hot and Sam could basically feel the heat that surrounded Dean's body as he leant over, slipping his hand through the railings of the bed just to stop mere inches before actually touching him. He looked up at his father and the doctor who stood on the opposite side of the bed.

"Is it OK…can I touch him?"

Dr. Parker nodded in agreement.

Very cautiously, Sam slid his fingers over Dean's, careful not to touch the heavily wrapped wrists and avoid the needle sticking out of the back of his hand. He laced his fingers through his brother's, added no pressure, just letting their skin touch so Dean would know that he was there.

God, he was burning up…

And then, mere seconds after Sam made contact with his still unconcsious brother, Dean let out an almost inaudible sigh. His fingers relaxed, ever so slightly, making space for his little brother's to slip between them and hold onto them, making sure he would not leave his side again any time soon.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Someone or something was there, next to him, he could feel the pressure and warmth against his left arm. He knew that this should make him nervous, should scare him because only god knew what would be curling up next to a beaten and bloody body right in the middle of nowhere.

The different prospects chased through his head at high speed but for some reason he couldn't get himself to panic, there was something so very familiar about the touch, something comforting even though he didn't know where exactly to put it.

Once again, just for the sake of it, he tried prying his eyes open – maybe somehow the tape had gotten loose after all, but of course, no such luck. What did strike him as odd, though, was the fact that he knew that he should be a whole lot of pain right now. The last thing he remembered was white hot pain, all over and throughout his entire body. Yet, surprisingly, not anymore. Not that he felt comfortable, mind you, but somehow he felt numb all over and while there was an underlying pressure pushing him down, the real, deep pain was somehow kept at bay.

_Huh…now how about that…_

Maybe this was what dying felt like, he reasoned with himself. No more pain, just peace of mind and body. Just letting go…

_NO – no, not giving up, not yet!_

He had to get back, had to make sure Sam was alright, that they hadn't gotten to him somehow. His fogged mind conjured up pictures of those punks finding him gone upon returning to the shack they'd held him in, then turning on his little brother for revenge.

He swallowed convulsively and it actually did hurt to do that, only a little bit though and he decided could live with that for now. His lips felt dry and raw and he ran his tongue over the chapped skin, succeeding only in making both his lips and tongue starting to sting as the dry surfaces scraped against each other. He wondered briefly about why the hell he was lying on his back, how that was even possible with both his arms tied behind him, and that's when it hit him…

Again he parted his lips, ever so slightly, moving his tongue, which felt hideously swollen by the way, to the corner of his mouth.

_HUH…now again…how in hell…_

The gag was gone!

He was actually able to open his mouth!

Almost dizzy with relief he took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to savour the feeling of fresh air in his lungs, the panic of choking gone, not caring how this had happened just now. He would worry about that later. While the initial thought had sounded kind of like a good idea to him, the actual act didn't, much.

The pain that hit him square in the chest barely halfway through the motion was blinding, white hot waves of agony washing over him, engulfing his whole body. Within just a split second, everything was back to square one – all the relative peace and numbness gone as every single injury he sustained came bounding back to remind him of it's presence.

He groaned, deeply, through open lips. _GOD, this had to stop!_

And just when he thought that he was going to pass out – not unwillingly – the presence he had felt before huddled close to him moved ever so slightly, the grip at his hand intensifying and within the blink of an eye, he knew…

"S…'my…"

It came out more like a croak and he thought he tasted blood in his mouth from the sheer effort it took to form this one, simple word, his lungs burning and ribs jarring against each other, but to hell with it...

"Sammy…" he tried again and this time he thought it might have been audible.

When the figure next to him didn't seem to move he got a little frantic, fear building up as he tried to get a better grip on what he assumed must be a hand grabbing onto his own, fingers applying slight pressure while he scrambled to form the word once again, louder this time.

"Sammy…better…be…you…?!"

The shift in weight was so sudden it made whatever surface he was lying on shift and even this slight movement made him want to throw up, it hurt so bad. When the drumming in his ears stopped, or rather, died down to a somewhat bearable level, he heard a voice, desperate and far too close to his ear, but the familiarity of it made up for all of that.

"Dean, oh god, you're awake! Hey, bro, come on, calm down. It's all right. It's me, Sam, I'm right here. Everything is going to be alright."

Dean didn't let go of that small hand he had gotten a hold of, pinned it down with all the strenght he could muster. Not that that amounted to much, but it seemed to be enough because Sam didn't try to pull away but instead put his other hand up to his brothers's cheek, finding a spot there to make contact.

Dean struggled to get his bearings, so many things he wanted to ask, where the hell he was, for example, or why in god's name he still couldn't see. If Sammy was here it had to mean that he had made it out…unless…

He wrenched his arm free to bring it up to his face, ignoring the pain in his elbow and shoulder at the movement. He just had to see, had to make sure that they were not back there, Sam taken too. His clumsy, numb fingers groped at his eyes, feeling something puffy and hot, not knowing what it was exactly, but it sure wasn't the duct tape he'd expected to find. He tried to pry it off and was surprised to find that he couldn't, that it hurt to touch whatever was apparently still covering his eyes. He wasn't aware of the fact that it was his own skin he was feeling, hot and throbbing with fever.

Just as he was starting to try peeling this _"thing"_ off with a little more fervor he felt his hand being grabbed and pulled away and while he knew it had to be Sam doing that it actually surprised him that he would be able to do so with such little effort.

"Dean, please…don't. You are safe now, we are in a hospital. Please…just stop. You are hurting yourself. Just take it easy, take it easy…"

Breathing hurt like a bitch and it didn't help that he was beginning to panic once again so he concentrated everything he had left onto his little brother's voice, willing himself to be soothed by the sound of Sammy practically chanting "easy, easy, easy,…" over and over and over again.

A sudden image sprang to his mind, of himself, about 4 or 5 years old, carrying his crying baby-brother in his arms, walking circles in some small, dark room that appeared to be their bedroom, chanting those same words to him in an endless song, lulling him softly to sleep.

Dean choked out a deep, heartfelt groan, holding onto Sam's hand once again, squeezing as hard as he could.

"What…my eyes…can't…"

"Shhh, it's ok, I know. You can't see but it's going to be alright. Your eyes are just swollen real bad, but it will get better, I promise…You got to trust me and calm down OK?"

Sammy apparently tried to sound strong and confident for his sake and Dean wanted to believe him, he really did. So he just resigned himself to the fact that for now, he had to take his brother's word for it, that he trusted Sammy with his life, so why not believe that everything would turn out alright in the end.

He faintly realized that someone else had entered the room, there was a flurry of activity all around him. He thought he recognized another voice, too, but then someone else took hold of his left arm and there was sudden warmth spreading out from his left hand and up the entire limb, his whole body.

He felt himself slipping away again but this time the darkness didn't seem quite as deep as before.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

tbc

_AN:_

_Ok, so it took a little longer to update, but I added another page or two to the chapter, it just seemed to go a littler smoother this way – I hope you agree._

_Thanks again for every single review – I can't mention every single person and I really should start answering all of those wonderful reviews – but I really was swept away by all the nice things you said!_

_Again, please let me know what you think…thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Still don't ow__n them – too bad. _

_But I do own a cat called Sam…got him from a shelter and that was actually and truthfully his name already when I got him – Mr. Sam, to be correct…OK, that has got nothing to do with anything…so here it goes, the next chapter:_

Chapter 8

John had gotten back to the room in time to see his son's desperately clinging to each other and he thought that his heart actually skipped a beat when he realized that Dean had woken up. Then it skipped another beat when he saw how his oldest clung to his youngest with such desperation and need it actually chipped a piece off his heart.

Those two drew so much strength from each other, he must have done something right, raised them right after all.

Sammy refused to let go of his brother, even when the doctor tried to pry them apart, so they worked around him in the end, checking Dean's blood pressure and pulse and finally pushed a syringe filled with what he assumed must be more painkillers into the IV on the back of his left hand.

Sam kept talking through it all, whispering soothing words in Dean's ear nobody else could hear, and John was sure that it wasn't only the meds that finally pulled his son under again, the look on his face slightly more peaceful, he thought.

Only when Sam was absolutely certain Dean was gone again, his hand lax in his own, did he finally cease his chanting, still holding onto him though. He seemed drained and slightly confused as he looked up at all the people suddenly in the room and John realized that he had somehow been so tuned into his brother that he hadn't really taken in his surroundings up until now. When he saw his father he gave the slightest hint of a smile and John could see how his youngest bravely fought the tears ready to well.

He strode over to Sam's side, put a steadying hand on his shoulder, looked towards the doctor who was still busying himself with machines and charts and giving orders to the nurses. He checked Dean's pulse again after a minute, making sure he had actually calmed down, noted his temperature and seemed to be slightly more satisfied now than a couple of hours before. Finally, he looked up at the two remaining Winchesters in front of him.

"Well, looks like he pulled himself out. I guess we all know what triggered it, but I still have to say that I'm impressed. I don't have to tell you how serious his condition really was, still is, to be honest, but he is one hell of a fighter. His vitals are stronger now, the fever didn't break yet, but it did go down enough to make me think that the antibiotics might actually work now. We'll still need to see how his internal injuries are healing and there is always the danger of a setback, but right now I would say that he is on a better way than what we would have expected."

"So, what's going to happen now?" John questioned, just a little hint of uncertainty in his voice. He wasn't used to not being in control, certainly not when his sons were involved.

"Well, as I said before, we still have to give him time. He has to heal and this is definitely not going to be a fast or easy process, far from it. But I think that he did proof to us that he's willing to fight. The least we can do now is give him the time and all the support he needs to get better. I cannot tell you of the aftereffects his injuries will have as of yet, but we'll just have to take it one step at the time."

"When will you move him out of the ICU?" John asked.

"We'll give him another 24 hours, make sure he's really stable, then he should be ready to be moved to a regular room. I take it that the two of you are going to stay with him, not matter what I say, right?"

At the determined nod he received from both Sam and John, Dr. Parker smiled. That was one kind of family bond those three had going there.

"Alright then, I'll make sure that you'll have some space. Seems like Dean needs to have you around and I don't want to be the one to deny him that!"

The words were spoken to both of them but he looked straight at Sam saying it.

"You have to make sure you brother stays calm and doesn't overexert himself, alright? He seems like a tough one to handle, even when barely concsious."

That finally drew a smile out of Sam as the boy again looked at the prone form of his brother between them affectionately, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

"Sure, I'll take care of him. Always."

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

The first thing he saw when he was finally able to open his eyes was Sam.

He had just woken up, had done so one or two times before in the last couple of hours, both of these times barely aware and out cold again after a minute at the most. Both times he had sensed his brother's presence, his dad's too, but he hadn't been able to see, the panick this fact caused wiping him out again almost instantly. But always, there had been someone holding onto him, grounding him, giving his this last tiny bit of reassurance that he really was safe, was with his family. Not alone.

This time the efforts of prying his leaden lids open were finally rewarded and for a second he was too overwhelmed to do anything at all but stare straight ahead, well, a little to the side the way his head was turned, through those tiny slits that now were his whole vision and for the first time in, well, he didn't really know how long, he didn't feel freaked out completely…he could see.

Not that he really could, actually, not clearly anyway, but there were shapes and even some colours and while he couldn't keep his eyes open for more than a couple of seconds at a time it felt so damn good he couldn't find the words to describe it. And one of those shapes, right there in front of him, he would have recognized, no matter how bad his vision. Always.

Even though the the sudden light of the hospital room sent flashes of pain through his head, made it spin and throb, he didn't complain because as long as the panic was kept at bay it was worth it…

He must have watched Sam for some minutes, on and of, before he finally found the strenght to speak.

"Sam…" Huh, now that seemed to be the only word he could come up with lately.

His own voice sounded foreign to him, but then again, he'd just been unconscious for more than 3 days, been through hell and back, so it really wasn't all that bad. Considering…

Considering that, by all means, he should be dead. That was at least what he felt like. That was what he remembered.

The form huddled in the chair in front of him jerked at the raspy sound of his voice, practically jumped up and leaned in closer to his face. Dean almost smiled at his brother's momentarily confused expression but quickly thought better of it when even the slightest tug at his cracked lips, the whole side of his face, hurt like hell. He tried to bring his hand up to grope at that damned mask covering his mouth and nose but was held back by a small but determined hand.

"No, Dean, don't. You've got to leave it on, it's helping you to breathe…"

Dean blinked heavy lids, bringing Sam's form into slightly better focus.

He allowed his hand to be pushed back onto the soft mattress, allowed it to be held there and didn't complain when Sam didn't let go even after making sure that he would not make a move at the hated mask.

It took so such a great effort to first form the words in his fogged brain, bring them into the right order, then work on delivering them past chapped lips, but it did work…eventually.

"Sammy…you…OK…?!"

OK, he really hated how weak his voice sounded just now, how desperate.

Sam's face took on a disbelieving look, staring at him blankly for a second or two before responding soft, affectionate voice.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, alright? I'm good now…" …_now that you are back…_

At that Dean closed his eyes again, now that he had actually seen and heard his little brother, made sure it was really him and he was alright. It had just gotten so much easier to bear.

"Always…worry…'bout you. Have to…my…job…" he choked out between raspy breaths before gladly succumbing to sleep again.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

He couldn't believe his brother, couldn't believe how damn stupid he was and at the same time felt this overwhelming love and affection towards him that pushed all the anger at him aside. After everything, everything he had been through, Dean actually had asked how _he_ was doing, if he, Sammy, was alright? This was just so typically Dean, though. Always, _ever_ worrying about his little brother before himself, no matter what. For that, right now he could have punched and hugged him at the same time.

You just had to love Dean, no way around that, the way that he cared for and about those he loved…his family.

He watched his big brother fall into a slightly restless sleep, his brows furrowed a little in what Sam knew to be a sure sign of pain, checking his forehead only after making sure that he really was fast asleep before turning around to look over at his father.

John was finally out cold, too. The strain of the last couple of days taking their toll as he lay slumped across two uncomfortable looking chairs, chin on chest, snoring softly. He hadn't stirred through Dean waking up and Sam almost felt sorry for his dad. He hadn't yet had the chance to see his son awake. He'd spent the past couple of days by his side only to miss out on this now. Well, he'd have plenty of opportunities later on.

He resigned himself to watching his sleeping brother, knowing that it would be completely out of the question once Dean got better. His brother always felt it when being watched, would wake up in the middle of the night to catch Sam staring at him. Not that he did that a lot, only when waking up from a nightmare when he was younger, too afraid to go back to sleep, usually, waiting for Dean to wake up so he could crawl into bed next to him.

Or when Dean had, again, gotten hurt. Sam always felt the need to watch his brother sleep then, reassuring himself that he was still there, still breathing.

Right now it felt like a little bit of both, this whole situation a nightmare he needed to wake up from. He needed to watch his brother to make sure that he was still there, that behind all these bruises and the pain it was still Dean.

Watching him now seemed even more important than ever before.

He couldn't get himself to go to sleep, not with his dad not on watch. Someone needed to be there when Dean woke up, needed to reasure him that everything was alright.

Sam knew about the little secret Dean carried around with him ever since the poltergeist had trapped him in that box. While his big brother thought that he had conceiled it pretty well, he didn't realize that Sam knew Dean better than he probably knew himself. He was aware of the nightmares, the panik attacks, the claustrophobia.

He had watched Dean go through his own personal hell over and over again, uncapable of doing anything to help other than look away when that panicked look crept over his brother's face, cough, when Dean's nightmares got too vivid so his brother would wake up and snap out of it. Sam would pretend that he was fast asleep then until Dean's breathing had evened out again.

He made sure that doors and windows were never sealed completely shut, always some light in the room they were staying at.

He gave his brother space without letting him realize it but without leaving him in the process. While it might not seem like much, it was all he could do, really. Help his brother keep up the pretense, the walls he had so carefully built around himself. If he'd take those away, he didn't know how Dean could cope. He'd spent too long hiding from himself, it might as well brake him apart.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_The next day_

If you'd asked him a couple of weeks ago he would have said that sponge baths were cool as long as there were some nurses involved. _Bring them on_. Now he thought that he might have been wrong about that. It wasn't the nurse's fault, they were actually very nice, maybe even hot, but right now he was in too much agony to bring himself to appreciate it. At least they had sent both his dad and brother outside not to witness this humiliation.

They turned him over to his left side to peel off the tapes covering his back, cleaning the gashes there and fixing new bandages over them. By the time they were done, Dean was bathed in sweat yet again, barely hanging on. One of the nurses was positioned in front of him, holding him steady. While he didn't look at her at all, keeping his eyes tightly closed to not convey what he really felt like doing right now – scream out his pain, cry just for the sake of it – he could feel her sympathetic gaze on him, her hands softly stroking his shoulder and neck throughout the whole ordeal.

Once they turned him back onto his back breathing became a little easier, the vice around his chest easing up a bit. Still he was wasted. While they proceeded to change the dressing across his chest and abdomen, worked some cooling lotion into his aching shoulders, he fought to even out his breathing, keep it from hitching uncontrollably. He felt like a helpless little child and that was definitely not a feeling he cherished.

They dabbed and probed and prodded at his abdomen and just when he thought that he had to stop this, now, that he'd have to make them stop before he'd break apart, a warm hand laid softly against his cheek and for the split of a second his mind conjured up the image of his mom, holding his head just like this before putting him to bed when he was little, telling him that angels were watching over him.

_Mom._

If he concentrated hard enough he could make himself believe that it really was her, holding him, soothing him. And that gave him the strength to get through it.

They bandaged him up, pulled the blankets high over his slightly trembling body. The nurse who had been holding him remained after the others had left, busied herself with cleaning up the little things left behind, humming softly as if to make sure he got enough time to get back his composure, to put him at ease.

When she had finished her tasks she came over to his side again, gently touching his face, brushing flattened hair away from his forehead and waiting patiently until he opened his eyes to look up at her. He gave her his best Dean Winchester smile – or at least the clostest version he could come up with in his current condition, but it actually felt good to do so. She smiled back at him, picking up a cup of water from the bedside table.

"You should drink something – don't want to rely on that IV to keep you hydrated, do you?"

Dean accepted her help as she eased the head of the bed slightly up, pulling the hated mask aside, leading the straw to his lips so he could take a sip, then another. She waited patiently when he started coughing painfully and there was something in her demeanour that put him at ease with her, helped him push past the shame he felt at not being able to hold the damn cup by himself, to do much of anything by himself right now.

When he was finished she again waited until he looked up at her before asking him softly if he was ready for his next round of drugs.

He nodded shakily. _Hell yeah, he was as ready as he was ever going to be._

"Ok, I'll go get them for you in just a bit. Now, would you like me to send your family back in or do you need another minute or two by yourself?"

_Huh, maybe she WAS an angel watching over him after all?!_

She seemed to sense that with his father or brother around, as much as he loved and needed them, there was still something that kept him on edge, something that made him push himself farther than he should in his current condition. Around them he felt the need to stay strong, for them as much as for himself. He wanted to make them believe that he was still the one holding everything together. Somehow she understood.

He managed another smile, not caring how that must look with his face all messed up as it was. He really needed to remember to ask for her name later.

"Maybe…just another minute…"

"Sure thing hon', just try to relax, tune it down a bit. You are doing just great, don't worry about a thing."

With that and another brush on the cheek she left the room.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sammy was there all day and for once Dean didn't mind. He still didn't feel strong enough to engage in a lot of conversation but it was so damn comforting to have his brother here with him. He felt that he deserved to be just a little selfish right now, keep Sammy there with him just so he wouldn't need to be alone.

Growing up there had been a few occasions when Dean had wished that, for once, he had some space for himself, didn't need to share a room and sometimes even a bed with is baby-brother. But then, on the few occasions he had actually been granted his wish, it had felt all wrong. He knew it wasn't normal, that no 16 year old needed to have his 4 year younger brother around to feel safe, to feel whole.

Then again, Dean had never thought of himself of their family, as _normal_.

Whenever they were apart, be it in school or one of those rare times he did go out by himself, he always felt that Sammy wasn't safe, that he needed to be there to protect him. That had been his one and only job throughout the past, what, 12 years. Probably even before…well before the fire, but it had taken on a whole new meaning after.

Now, stuck in this hospital bed, unable to move without almost toppling over in pain, it seemed almost ridiculous to want Sammy here to be able to protect him. Still that was exactly what he felt. As long as he had him in his sight, he felt like he had some, whatever little, control over the situation.

The kid was sitting in that scratchy chair they had put below the window and when they had moved him to the regular ward the furniture had been moved along with him. Sam was, of course, reading some book, sat immersed in the literature, chewing his nails absentmindedly as he was engaged in whatever story it was he was reading.

"What are you reading there…" _whew – one whole sentence without wheezing. Way to go. Just ignore the fact that it sounds like you could choke up any minute._

Sam started at the sound of his voice, a smile quickly spreading across his face upon seeing his brother awake and hearing him speak.

"Hey Dean, you are awake. How are you feeling man?"

"I'm fine Sammy…just fine. So…what you reading there?

_Of course he was fine, he always was._

"Uhmmm – The Godfather…Mario Puzo."

"…like Brando…the movie?"

"Yeah, Dean, like the movie."

"…good one…" Dean nodded, left it at that.

"Where's dad?"

"He's outside…talking to the police."

At that Dean went rigid.

"What…what would they…why would he talk to them."

He tried to keep his voice steady but didn't quite succeed to keep the slight tremor out of it. Why the hell would his dad talk to the police? What did they know, what would they tell him? He needed to talk to his dad, now, before…well, before what? Before anyone could figure something out, before he had figured out what he needed to do about this whole mess.

"Don't worry, Dean, they just wanted to, you know, talk to you…find out what happened. But Dad and the doctor, they said you need another day or two before you can talk to them, that you shouldn't overdo it yet. Don't worry, dad will take care of it."

Sammy's voice had taken on this edge again, this protectiveness and Dean didn't like it at all. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. HE was supposed to be the one taking care of Sammy, damn it, HE was the big brother, not the other way around.

But then he thought that he could let it pass, just this once. Come to think of it, it actually did feel good to have someone worry about him for a change, take matters out of his hands. His dad would take care of this, wouldn't let the police talk to him until they had cooked up a story to tell. Hell, his dad had no idea what this had been all about. He must assume that it was something supernatural so he would make sure that all bases were covered before letting the authorities in on him. Until their stories added up.

It would give him time to think this through, get his head straightened out. He was confident that with just a little more time, he'd figure something out… figure out the right way to handle this.

Tbc

_A/N__:_

_OK, so hope you like it and please let me know if you do, reviews are greatly appreciated - as always!_

_Thanks for all the support so far!_

_And as always: promise to update soon!_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Dean, hey, you awake?"

John leaned closer to his son, pulling the chair with him, so Dean wouldn't have to strain too much to turn towards him. He could see his throat working for a second or two before the words would finally form, heavy lids dragging open while speaking.

"Yeah, dad…I'm awake…"

It sill took him awhile to get his bearings and it was the hardest thing to watch his own son struggling with the smallest things as if they were horribly exhausting. But once he had regained most of his composure back, John was glad to see that his son was faring just a little better. His eyes, for one, would open almost all the way up now, and while he still needed to refocus them every couple of seconds he at least could look at his father now. He was able to form more than one-word-sentences, too, short ones and very slowly but still.

Yet he still looked horrible, bruised and far too pale wherever there was a patch of un-bruised skin left. And John knew that he was in far worse pain than he let on, so he had to remind himself to go easy on him. He just wasn't used to the sight of Dean in such a state, so weak and vulnerable. Those adjectives he usually didn't associate with his oldest.

John waited with forced patience until Dean had focused on him, carefully pulling himself in a slightly more upright position and chose to ignore the low hisses of pain this movement drew out of him. Dean wouldn't want him to acknowledge this weakness so he let it pass for now, however hard that was on him.

Wordlessly he handed his son the cup of water from the nightstand, adjusted the straw so Dean could take a tentative sip, eyes closed in indignation, before finally broaching the subject he had come to attend to.

One look at his son told him that he was everything but ready, but he couldn't postpone this any longer. His heart ached for his oldest, so obviously in agony, body and mind, but there was just no other way.

"Son, we need to talk…"

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

He knew what was coming, had known that it would sooner or later, he had just wished it to be far later than now. He braced himself, brain working in overdrive. _Just let him start this, buy some time._

"Dean, I know this is probably hard on you right now, but we gotta talk about what happened."

Dean braced himself, body visibly tensing, but there was just no way around it.

"Listen, the police was already here to talk to you. Dr. Parker was able to send them off for now, but that didn't buy us much time, I'm afraid. They'll be back soon and we need to have a plan of action until then."

Dean nodded slowly. He knew that his dad was right, it was just that he really didn't know what _his_ plan of action should be. He had thought about it long and hard, in the few waking moments at the hospital but especially during his long, torturous escape from hell but no matter which way he turned it, there was no easy answer to be found. If it was a demon or supernatural creature that had attacked him, there would have been no second thought – he'd tell his dad and they'd find it and kill it – case closed.

This was different.

The monsters that had done this to him were only human, people, kids as a matter of fact. He had no plan on how to handle that, none whatsoever. Sure, some part of him really, really wanted them to suffer, tie them up and beat the shit out of them until they begged him to stop, make them bleed and suffer just like they did him.

Lock them in a coffin and bury them alive.

But then there was this other part of him, the part that he didn't quite understand, the part that wouldn't, couldn't inflict harm on another human being, no matter what. He knew they deserved to be punished, severely so, but he didn't think he could do it, could live with himself after, and he sure didn't want his dad to do it either.

The "normal" course of action would be to turn them over to the police.

Well, _normal_ was not the Winchester-way, never had been.

For one, turning those punks over would certainly lead to countless interviews and interrogations and eventually, someone would find out that they weren't really called Webster, that they had filled out the insurance forms with a wrong name. Then there was the little topic of their credit cards scams to think about, too. Being part of a police investigation didn't sit well with the work they were doing, period, with all the weapons they carried around, digging up graves, burning bodies, destroying stuff along the way. They had tried to stay below the police radar so far, this was not going to help them, not at all.

Someone finding out would ultimately result in getting them into trouble. Once the authorities got wind of their situation…it wouldn't be the first time that social services had been on their case but so far they had been able to dodge the worst of it. They'd be up and gone by the time anyone would come looking any closer. They couldn't run with a lawsuit running, they'd be fair game to anyone who cared to get to them.

Then, of course, an investigation and the following lawsuit would mean that they couldn't move, couldn't proceed to hunt. Plus there was the little problem of being able to afford a lawyer, should they actually choose to hire one.

No, not an option, for sure. He didn't need his dad to tell him that.

The other thing he was afraid of was of his dad's reaction. He had tried to think this through and he could only come up with one possible scenario. While John had always taught his sons that humans were not to be harmed Dean just didn't know if this rule still applied once one of his sons was involved. For all his faults nobody could say that John Winchester wouldn't fight for his sons, wouldn't revenge them. If anything ever hurt them, just like those kids had hurt Dean…he just wasn't sure his dad wouldn't just go off, break his own rule and get himself in deep trouble.

Dean didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he was the cause of his dad actually doing harm to other people and all the consequences this would drag along…for all of them.

He just wished he had a little more time to think this through, to get his drugged up brain clear enough to come up with a solution to this problem.

"Dean, come on. I know it's hard but you got to tell me what did this to you so I can go deal with it. Then we can come up with a story for the cops and as soon as you are better, we just get as far away from here as possible…put it all behind us…"

His dad's voice was soft but Dean could still feel the determination behind them. Plus something else. A little impatience, maybe, definitely on edge.

Dean dealt his last ace then, hoping it would buy him just a little more time.

"Dad…I don't know. It's still…everything…such a blur. I'm not sure. I don't think I remember…maybe I just…need some more time…"

John's head sank and Dean knew he had lost. As much as his dad loved him, weakness was never something that would be forgiven. When John lifted his face up again Dean could see the decision edged into his features all too clearly. He thought he saw disappointment, too, and it tore at his heart to think, _know _that he was the source of it.

"Alright then. If you're sure, I'll just pack some things then and go up to were they found you, try to track that thing down. I'm sure you left some sort of trail, shouldn't be too hard to follow it to wherever it was that it took you to. I'll find it and deal with it and come back as soon as I'm done…"

Dean felt his head go light, thoughts jumbling over each other, not sure if that was because of the meds or the concussion or something else entirely. He watched as his dad leaned back, putting distance between them, mentally and physically and he knew that he had to act, now, or he'd end up having blood on his hands he couldn't deal with – human blood, his dad's, what little was left of their family...

"Dad, no…wait. I…there is something…something I do remember..." his voice so damn small and shaking. _Now wasn't that just great…_

That got John's attention and he instantly leaned closer again, mere inches from his son's face oblivious to the discomfort he was causing for now.

"What, Dean, what is it? Do you know what it was?"

A slow nod, against the splitting headache, not caring.

"It was…they were just…Dad, they were just some kids…some kids from school…"

Well, that was even harder than he had imagined. Dean Winchester, kick-ass demon-hunter, picked up and beaten to a bloody heap by _just some kids from my school_. _Just freaking great._

If this didn't completely kill his dad's confidence in him then what else would?

He didn't think he would ever forget the look on his dad's face after that confession.

"Come again?"

"They were just those kids…from my class…some jerks…I don't know why…I never did anything to them…" his voice was suddenly small like a child's, laced through with pain and fear. _Great, add that to the humiliation._

"So they were possessed…must have been some kind of demon possessing human bodies…"

Dean heard his dad say the words but knew, deep down, he didn't believe them himself. Couldn't believe that his son, the soldier he'd trained, got sidetracked by some _punks_.

"No, dad…not possessed, just people…just...themselves…"

He didn't think he could take to look at his dad anymore so he blinked his eyes slowly, turning his head away. Worked through some painful breaths, working on calming himself down. At least that ought to make him stop storming out to the forest and after them, right?

Well, seemed like he didn't know his father as well as he thought he did.

After some endless seconds, minutes of silence filled only by his raspy breathing, the chair his dad was sitting on suddenly scratched over the worn linoleum that made up the floor, making Dean jump almost out of his skin. Within seconds he knew what John was going to do, and he knew that he had to stop him. He needed to protect his family, keep them together, that's all that counted. More than his pride. More than anything. He didn't want those freaks' blood to stain their hands, break them apart, no way.

"No, dad…please…wait…"

He propelled himself up and forward, reaching for his father's arm to hold him back.

Pain hit in white hot waves, stabbing at his chest, his abdomen, making his head scream. He felt stitches tear at tender skin as the muscles in his abdomen cramped from the sudden movement, felt something give and an all too familiar warmth engulf his entire body.

He missed his dad's arm by far, slipping off the mattress of his bed, slumping awkwardly forward and being unable to break his fall he slid off his bed and into darkness.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

He hadn't been able to catch his son's falling body, been only able to break some of the force with which he rushed towards the floor. John had cradled Dean's body in his arms then, holding him closer than he had in a long, long time, whispering promises that everything would be alright.

Funny how he only seemed to be able to do so when Dean was unconscious or delusional.

He held his son's shaking and trembling form in his arms, waiting for the hospital staff to rush to his aide when Dean actually woke up again, held on to him with more fervour than he should have been able to, locked surprisingly lucid eyes with him.

"Dad, you…gotta promise…don't do anything…stupid. We NEVER…never hurt people…"

What could John really say to that? Getting his own rules thrown back at his face like that. At least he knew that his lessons actually struck a chord, that they were obeyed. And Dean was right, he really couldn't…there was just a certain line they could never cross. Not without putting everything at stake that they had left.

So he had nodded then, promised his son to not do anything about this until they had figured something out.

"Dad…gotta promise…something else."

"Sure, Dean, just tell me, what else?"

Another tremor shook him and John felt warm blood seep through the bandages on his stomach, stain his hospital gown a dark red. Yet his voice was surprisingly strong.

"Don't tell Sammy…"

"Dean, why wouldn't you want him to know…I don't understand."

"Bad enough...he knows what's out there in the dark…shouldn't be afraid…of the light…on top of it!"

Now how could he argue against that?

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"Dad, what did you say to him…what the…what happened in there?"

"Nothing, Sam. We were just…we were just talking, about what happened. I wanted to know what he remembered."

John couldn't stand the look on his son's face, accusation written all over it, etched deep into those soulful hazel eyes. Uncertainty, too, and he hated to think that maybe Sam was right. It seemed like all he could do was get his son's into trouble. They really didn't deserve this.

"So, what did he say? He knows what took him?"

John thought long and hard about his answer to that question. But for now he decided to stick to his promise.

"No, Sam, he doesn't. Doesn't remember a thing. Probably due to that concussion. The doctor says that's not too unexpected, that it might come back to him some day."

"So, what exactly happened, why did he freak out like that…?"

"Sam, I don't really know. He just…he panicked, tried to get up. I didn't get to him in time, should have been there faster…they said he pulled those stitches out, the ones in his abdomen. He was bleeding again and they need to make sure that nothing else got damaged in the process…"

Sam looked away, fighting down the tears again ready to well. He just didn't think he could take this much longer. His damn brother draining all the strength out of him with his inability to stay well and unharmed for any longer stretch of time.

"Why can't he stop getting hurt, for once, dad? Why does he always have to get hurt?"

Yet another question that John didn't seem to be able to find an answer to.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

John sat in the chair again, watching his son sleep more or less peacefully. Those drugs they were giving him had to be pretty strong to zone Dean out like that, even if it was just for some hour or two at a time. Dean always had been a restless sleeper, always tossing and turning, never sleeping on his back, either. But right now he needed the sleep, the deeper the better, needed to heal.

He had been lucky, considering, the fall having ripped practically every single stitch out of his abdomen, yet apparently not doing any additional damage to the internal injuries. Nothing but a lot more pain to go through.

_Add that to the list of my mistakes_, John thought bitterly.

Sammy was asleep as well, sprawled across the stuffed chair under the window, mouth hanging slightly open, drooling a little. Dean would have loved to see that, would never let Sammy see the end of it. But right now John couldn't even bring himself to smile when thinking about his sons banters and teasing.

He felt spent, utterly and completely bone deep tired, all energy drained from his body. And it wasn't just the past day's worries and sleep deprivation that tore at him. There was something else he knew he needed to do and it basically ripped his heart into pieces to even think about it.

Dean's confession had shocked him, more so than he would admit to himself. The thought of his son being beaten and tortured by nothing more than humans…this was just something way beyond anything his mind could come to terms with.

Funny, he'd have readily taken on all the forces out of hell to avenge his son, but this? Mind you, it wasn't as if John would have given it a second thought, right at that first moment when Dean had told him. He'd have gone out and...and done what, exactly? What would he have done? Truth was, he didn't know.

Hell yeah, he had preached to his sons time and time again that people were not in their line of business, that even revenge for some wrong done to them was nothing they could justify, they just couldn't afford that. They never, _ever_ were to inflict harm on another human being.

But now things were different somehow. Nobody, absolutely nobody messed with John Winchester's family.

He knew that his short temper was his weakness, definitely not his only one but the one that was most likely to get him into serious trouble one day. He had always thought that Dean was a like him in that department. Too much like him maybe. In every way except for when his brother was concerned. He'd have the patience of a saint then, letting Sam push it up to a point were John would be ready to blow up. Dean would remain gentle and that, he thought, was something that was so much like Mary that it almost broke his heart at times.

He looked at both his sons, taking them in, felt his heart well up with pride and fatherly love. They would turn out to be great men one day…that was if he could keep them alive long enough…

There was no way he'd want them any different than they were right now.

Thinking about how Sam had taken care of his brother, had cared for, stuck to him.

The way Dean had fought his way out of there, against all odds, had endured terrors beyond imagination to get back to his family. And after everything that had happened, everything they had done to him, he was still strong enough to push past his definite anger and pride and was ready to make sure that his father didn't do anything stupid that would put all of their lives risk. Not going after those kids was definitely the toughest decision John had made in a long time, if not ever. But he had promised his son. He owed him that much.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was the hardest decision for Dean as well.

Never break the rules.

They'd figure something out along the way.

With everything that had happened it made it all the harder to do what he was about to do now. It wasn't a decision he had made lightly but he knew that they probably wouldn't see it quite that way. Sam definitely wouldn't, he was always the more impulsive one. He'd give him a hard time, John had no doubt about that.

But in a way it would be more difficult with Dean. He at least would pretend to understand, would seemingly accept every explanation his dad threw at him. Still it left John wondering if, inside, he really did understand. Sometimes that quiet acceptance scared him more that Sam's obvious resistance.

And there were always those eyes, that betrayed no emotion, hiding his feelings so well.

With Sam all his emotion lay right there in his hazel eyes, anger and hurt and betrayal written clearly all over them.

They would come to terms with it, eventually. They still had each other, after all, they'd take care of one another. Always had.

His inability to sit by and watch his son suffer through this now did strike even himself as being so utterly wrong but he just couldn't stay, couldn't just sit there and do _nothing_. He couldn't be strong enough for all of them…now what the hell kind of father did that make him?

He ran trembling hands over his face, across the dark stubble that had grown there over the past week. OK, better get this over with. Putting it off any longer would not make it any easier.

He straightened himself for the confrontation to come.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

_AN:_

_OK, so I was a little nervous about this part…and the next one, too. I know that some of you expected John to kick some butt…and I tried that too, but it just didn't seem right. I tried explaining it in Dean's thoughts on the subject and hope that I could get it across somehow. I think he will have some kind of confrontation in the end, though…!_

_So, hope you are still with me and as always – please take the time to review if you liked it!_

_Next part is done and will be up soon!_


	10. Chapter 10

the next day

Chapter 10

_the next day_

He caught Sam watching him over the rim of the book he was reading, trying not to be too obvious but failing miserably. Dean couldn't actually see the furrowed brows but knew that they were there, worry written all over the half hidden face. Usually he would have shot some snipe remark at his little brother but right now he couldn't get himself to push past the one task he was currently trying to accomplish – namely, turning himself onto his side, his left one, to take the strain off his tortured back.

The nurses had helped him work out a position he would be slightly more comfortable with because laying flat on his back just didn't do the trick, even with this special mattress, for more than an hour or two at a time. Lying flat hurt his back like hell, turning onto his side almost made breathing impossible, ribs jarring against each other, the pain bringing hot tears to his eyes. Since his right side was considerably worse off that the left one they had found a way to turn him onto his left, really not more than a couple of inches, but still, it took the pressure off and that felt wonderful for long enough to be able to bear turning back onto his back again for a while.

But god, was it painful to do it by himself.

It was his own fault really because in an attack of frustration he had snapped at the nurses, the doctor, even Sammy, to get away from him, that he was fine, thank you very much, he didn't need to be manhandled like a child. Maybe he hadn't said it in so many words, but they had gotten the picture.

Which wasn't at all how he felt, considering that he had woken up, like what, a couple of days before? And he didn't feel much better, not since that little setback he'd had. And now his body seemed to have developed some kind of resistance against the pain medications or so he thought for he felt overall and thoroughly like one whole mass of hurt and pain. He barely got through three hours after another bag of whatever drugs they were pumping into him before his body slowly drowned in agony again, knowing that they would only give him something every 5 hours, tops. Now that really sucked – out loud. The thing was, he wasn't really sure how much of that pain was really just physical…

Not that he usually was into the whole drowning your pain in drugs kind of thing, but right now he really didn't care. He felt helpless and vulnerable, humiliated by the way he had to be cared for and washed and even fed. He hated this physical weakness and even though he knew better, inside, he still thought that he ought to be doing much better by now…the past days feeling like weeks, like a never ending tailspin he couldn't pull himself out of.

Then, of course, there was the matter of his dad leaving, abandoning him, them, again.

Another hunt…always another hunt, and another, and another…

His dad leaving when he needed him, when they needed him the most. And that was a totally different kind of pain, one that hurt deeper than the physical one, one that even the drugs couldn't help with.

He almost despised himself at times, his damn weakness.

He could open his eyes just fine now, his vision still a bit blurry and unfocused at times, especially when he got tired. Which was quite often, come to think of it. Breathing still hurt like a bitch, talking possible, but lately he liked to play his cards a little, to keep from being forced to talk. He rather kept quiet. His whole abdomen felt like it was on fire, even more so after his little fall off the bed and that he knew he had to be careful not to do again because he really didn't want to feel something even remotely similar ever again. That was just the worse aches, the smaller ones, like hands, wrists, shoulders and legs he didn't even register most of the time. He had just this morning found out, much to his astonishment, that his right ankle was in some kind of brace and while he couldn't really remember the actual fall he knew that it must have happened when stumbling through that damn forest.

_A snapped tendon of all things. _

The damn brace keeping him from getting up and, goddamnit, walking to the damn bathroom by himself.

OK, that was not entirely true, and he actually knew it, but it just felt so much better to be able to blame his insuficiencies to something, be it completely insane and out of reason. Better to have one thing to blame than his whole, damn body which was apparently dead set on failing him, time and time again lately.

Oh, yeah – almost forgot, his head apparently was split right down the middle by something sharp – he was sure of that, at least that's what it felt like most of the time, all of the time.

On the upside though, it couldn't really get any worse, right? So he chose to suck it up. That he knew how to do. That he was good at. Keep up the fucking pretense, for the nurses, the doctors, Sammy. Even his dad, had he been there to witness.

He had gotten this far, he wasn't going to back down now.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam sat hidden by his book, not really reading but using it as a shield instead to watch his brother more or less undetected. And of course he knew that it didn't work, from the way Dean now hissed in pain, closed his eyes in indignity and fought to even out his breathing over this simple act of moving mere inches in his bed but trying to hide it for his little brother's benefit.

It scared Sam, more than anything, to see his brother in this condition. Dean hardly ever allowed himself to show weakness, especially not in front of his brother or father. Dean was his strong big brother, his hero. For him to show this kind of pain out in the open had to mean that he was doing real bad. And of course, he would not ask for help, even when he clearly needed it as, for example, right now.

Sam bit his lip, forced himself to give it another couple of seconds before finally he nonchalantly put his book aside and got up to walk the two steps over to his brother's bed. Always careful to make enough noise when approaching because he knew Dean would basically jump out of his skin when surprised by a touch or an unexpected noise and he really didn't want to cause him any more pain right now.

"You need any help?" he asked softly.

Dean kept his eyes closed but Sam caught the almost invisible nod so he proceeded to circle the bed to get up behind him and retrieve the two extra pillows that lay in the bottom of the nightstand.

Before he could reach out to assist him his stubborn as hell older brother again strained to shift over and again this terrible groan passed between his lips, making Sam shudder. Quickly he reached out to steady Dean's shoulder, aware of the slight shivers that ran through him in steady intervals, from exhaustion, Sam guessed, and pain and the slight fever he was still running from time to time. He gently pushed the first pillow underneath his brother's lower back and rump, the other he wedged behind his shoulders, to support his slightly raised position.

"That feel alright?"

Dean grunted in response and Sam held on to his shoulder maybe a second longer than necessary before pulling away and moving around the bed to face his brother again. He waited patiently until Dean had regained his composure because he knew how important that was to him. When finally he opened his eyes again their usually vibrant green colour was slightly glazed over, but aware. Plus something else, something Sam could place all to well but was forced to ignore most of the time…guilt and hurt.

Sam still couldn't get over the sight of his brother's face, the bruises and discoloration, now at their worst before hopefully paling down in the next couple of days, pain visibly etched into the fine lines around his eyes.

He probably stared at him a moment too long and while Dean took it a lot longer than he usually would have, finally he cracked.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

"What, Sam…have I grown a second head…? Something disgusting…coming out of my nose?"

Sam didn't avert his eyes this time. Usually it was enough if he snapped at him like that, he'd turn away with those teary eyes, filled with pain and hurt and Dean would of course back down, apologize, try to make up with him again. Not this time. If anything, the kid's gaze became more determined.

"What, Sammy…?"

"You OK?"

_OK, here we go again._

"Yeah, Sammy…I'm…"

"Fine, I know Dean. You are always fine. But you don't need to give me your usual crap, OK? I'm your brother…you can tell me."

Dean blew out the breath he had held, closed his eyes to not be forced to look into his little brothers pleading eyes.

"Sammy…"

God, how he wished that he was able to just walk away from him just then. Or turn around, for starters – anything to spare him those eyes.

Eyes that used to get everything he ever asked for – from Dean, at least. Be it the last M&M from a pack or that superman comic he so desperately wanted but had no money to buy. There had been more than a few occasions when John had scolded Dean for giving in to something Sam had asked of his older brother, something that his dad had clearly forbidden when being asked earlier.

"You spoil him too much." was what his dad used to say to him then.

But hey, someone ought to do it once in a while, right? It wasn't as if he didn't get anything in return.

"What is it Dean? I know you hurt, OK? I mean Jesus, how could you not. You should look at yourself. You look like shit warmed over, sorry dude, but it's true. What sense does it make to keep pretending that you are OK when it's so obvious you're not? Why do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what exactly?"

"This whole, _I'm Dean the invincible_ kind of thing? Would it really be that bad to admit that you do hurt, for once?"

"And what the hell…kind of difference would it make? What would you have me do? Say that I hurt…that it? Alright, Sam…I do hurt, OK? Now, does that make you feel any better? Good…then I say it again…I do hurt. All over…worse than ever before…now…you wanna hug…and cry or can I finally get some peace…?"

He had to stop his outburst then, hacking coughs shaking him for a while and when he opened his eyes he could see the old puppy-dog-eyes on him again, watered up and oh god did Sammy look small and young right there.

_Hell yeah – he's only 12 for god's sake, my baby brother, my whole life._

Great, so now he was going to have to make up with him…again…he was just so tired of this. How much more did he need to take before he finally found some peace?

And he certainly was not going to get into another discussion about their dad again. They'd been over it already, more than once.

--.--

Their dad had left. Had stayed by his side long enough to make sure he was going to be alright, was going to get better. Then he had left. Had left to attend to another hunt, take care of the family business. He had told them in his marine-voice, broking no argument. An order to them to accept his decision, not asking for understanding.

Dean thought he had seen through the barrier, though. Thought he'd seen how sorry his dad really was for leaving, thought he might have heard the unspoken words between the words that actually made it past his dad's lips. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that his dad had really wanted to stay, that it hurt him as much as it hurt him and Sammy. But dear god, Dean didn't just _want_ to believe it like all those countless times before, he needed to _hear_ it, just this once, hear him say it out loud. It couldn't be that hard to say that to his own sons, for crying out loud.

So for once he couldn't, try as he might, bring himself to accept, not without questioning. Not anymore. He had lain there on his bed, too stunned to say anything. Too hurt, inside and out, to get himself to accept his dad's decision. He didn't understand, how could he do it? Didn't he see how much they needed him, how much _he _needed him to be there for him?

As usual he had just sat by silently as John and Sam had gotten into an argument, listening to his brother first begging, then cursing their dad with tears of hurt and rage in his eyes. Sammy at least fought for him, stood by his side.

And just this once Dean hadn't found the strength to intervene, to be the stand-between, the shock-absorber of their anger. Again.

He had waited, silently, eyes closed, working through his pain until finally they'd stopped arguing. Through the heavy silence that had hung in the air after he had been acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing, their eyes on him, waiting for him to say _something, anything._ They had known he was awake but he'd be damned if he gave in. Finally, after an eternity, when he had thought he actually might break under the strain, a chair had been pushed back, his dad getting up.

A hand had grabbed his shoulder, softly, but still Dean had jumped and winced back. The hand had been removed again quickly, but Dean had still refused to look up, knowing that they'd see everything, that he wasn't going to be able to hide it, not this time. And after a while a soft voice had whispered: "Watch out for your brother…"

Dean hadn't been sure who it had been directed to, but hell, probably him, come to think of it. Not that he had ever needed to tell him, not after that night…

Then there were the steps of his father, not quite as determined as usual, leaving the room. Then silence.

--.--

So far Dean had been successful in dismissing the subject as quickly as it had started, had brushed Sammy off every time he had tried to bring it up. Playing the "being hurt and feel too weak to talk about it" card well. It was a little unfair, he knew that much but right now he didn't think he could bring himself to care, that he could face it. He couldn't face having to comfort his brother. He knew he should have, that Sam was scared as much as he himself, probably more so. Sammy just wasn't as good at hiding it. But even Dean Winchester had his limits, and he thought that he might have reached them right now. How could he take his brother's fears and pains away if he was basically swept away by his own?

But he had a responsibility, one that weighed more heavily than his own needs, that had become to be a part of his needs, to be exact. He couldn't loose Sammy on top of everything else. So he did what he knew best. He made sure that Sam was alright.

"Sorry, Sammy…didn't mean to snap at you…just don't leave…please." he croaked.

He couldn't see Sam's face at his request, but didn't take much to imagine the distraught look that he must have been wearing.

"Of course I'm staying, Dean…I'm not going anywhere." his voice so soft and caring, it almost broke Dean's heart all over again.

"Where would I go without you, anyway? Got no one to drive me…"

Dean actually smiled at that, squeezing his brother's hand he hadn't, up until now, been aware he was holding onto.

Of course Sam stayed. His little brother would never leave him…

Sammy was right, it was too obvious to everybody, too obvious to try to hide it. Yeah, he was hurt. So bad it made him want to scream, actually. But then again, what would change if he did? He'd just succeed in disappointing his family, again, by admitting to weakness, he was certain of that. Just like he'd disappointed his dad with this thing right here. His father had left, right? He'd been by his side until he had found out…had found out how weak his son truly was, how pitiable. And he couldn't bear to witness that – so he had left. Like all these times before and probably countless more times in the future to come.

Where did that leave him?

Well, it did leave him with Sammy. That was all he thought he ever needed. There were definitely worse things in the world, right? So why feel sorry for yourself when you got everything you really need?

There were worse things than a father that felt ashamed of you, that left you when you needed him the most, right?

…right?

Tbc

_AN:_

_OK, so before the stone-throwing starts, this chapter was hard on me, and I'm really nervous. _

_This was the way I had it playing out in my head from the start but I knew that it was going to be hard to write, to get my point across…I do like the character of John, very much so. I do believe he loved his sons more than anything but it just felt like…how can I explain that…it just felt like with him being unable to help Dean in a situation like this, he wouldn't be able to just sit by and do nothing…_

_I still believe that John wouldn't hurt human beings, so he'd find relief in hunting… He has made mistakes in his past, even he himself admitted that to Dean in "In my time of dying", right? This is just my take on this and I hope you're not too disappointed. _

_This chapter here is actually how the whole idea to this story started for me._

_But __just so you know, the boys won't be left alone in this…so if you're willing to bear with me I promise there will be some help on the way…_

_I go and take cover now…and hope you're still interested in the next chapter which will be up soon!_

_Again and as always, thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far and just don't hesitate to keep giving them. It really means an awful lot to me!_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Five days since their father had left.

Almost one whole week without so much as a word from him.

Dean had long since gotten through the anger he felt at his dad's leaving and was now heading straight for worry about him staying away for so long.

He did realize that his dad must have been in contact with the hospital somehow, they never questioned Sammy staying with him through day and night, never questioned why he didn't go to school or why nobody came to pick him up so he could sleep at home. Dean was pretty sure that his dad had worked something out, as usual, charming the nurses and doctors into believing whatever insane story he had been cooking up to explain it all.

No one ever even asked where their dad had gone to and that alone said it all, really. Not that Dean cared, much, at first. He told the day-nurses that his dad had to get back to work, he'd come by later that day, told the night-nurse that his dad had to get back to work just a couple of minutes ago and would be around again in the morning…it had worked this way on the few occasions they had been left at a hospital before, it would work again now.

Only that now he cold see it in their eyes, he could see that they felt sorry for him and he really, really hated that. They had no idea about their lives, whatever they had to deal with on a daily basis. This really wasn't all that bad…at least they had food and a place to stay. They'd been in worse situations before.

He had done his best, which might not have been an awful lot, he would be the first to admit that, but still…he thought he would go crazy, lying in that bed, feeling so damn weak and sleepy all the time. And when the sleepiness finally would subside he felt rotten all over. So those were his options and while he didn't like either of them he soon realized that with him and Sammy being on their own now, again, he'd have to make a choice. He couldn't risk missing something, anything, loosing Sammy out of his sight because he didn't have himself under control. He needed to be up for his duty – watching out for Sam, making sure he was safe.

So, while being in constant pain didn't seem like a very desirable option under normal circumstances it had to make do for now. He had talked to Dr. Parker, persuaded him to cut down on his pain-medication a little and the doctor had reluctantly agreed to it. Which of course earned him more and even closer scrutinizing visits from the nurses in the beginning, but again…no way around it so he might as well accept it.

Of course he hadn't filled Sam in on his plan of action, there would have been hell to pay. He knew that Sammy suspected something though, those eyes really did not fare too well with hiding emotions, but Dean chose to ignore it for now.

The only thing that really got Sam going was the matter of Dean's appetite. Which was, frankly, non-existent. It took him days to get past the immediate urge to throw up whenever something even closely resembling food was set in front of him and he could barely make himself eat a few bites before pushing the plate away.

Part of it might have been his near inability to hold the damn fork in the stiff fingers of his left hand without dropping the painfully forked up food at least a couple of times before it finally made it past his lips. Bus still – no way he was going to let Sam help him with that. He felt the constant stares his little brother sent his way, his sympathetic brown eyes boring into him, and sometimes it made him want to throw the whole damn tray his way, but of course he didn't. Sammy only meant well, worried, cared about him. After everything they'd been through he had every right to do so.

"You need to eat Dean, get your strength back…" Sam always spoke to him in this cautious, low tone lately. As if fearing to scare him, damage him when speaking up.

"Just not hungry, Sammy." And he always answered back in this defiant, slightly annoyed voice, which drove him crazy, because he really didn't mean it. He just got so restless and impatient, with himself, mostly, he simply couldn't help it.

Sam again chewed on his lower lip, apparently working up the courage to say something, trying to think of a way to do this without starting an argument but getting his way nonetheless.

"Look, I'm trying, OK. It's not like I didn't eat at all, just can't much more down right now…Leaves more for you, right? You're always hungry anyway…" he shot him his lets-make-up-again grin, musing over how many times he had needed to do that in the past days, unable to keep his temper in check to avoid having to do it altogether.

"Look, you think you could close the door so I can go to the bathroom without flashing someone?"

He shot Sam a smirk, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"You want me to get a nurse in to help you?"

Now did Dean just imagine it or was there a tiny hint of humour in his words, hidden way back but still…the first in well over a week.

"Nah, I'm good. Besides, we don't want to get them all nervous, right? They get far too excited over who gets to wash me in the morning already."

That finally got a big grin (plus an exaggerated eye-roll) out of his little brother and wasn't that just worth it?!

Dean pushed the tray of offending food aside and carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sam had moved over to his side, not touching him but being close by to steady him in case he needed it. They'd gotten some practice in this in the last to days, since Dean had stubbornly refused to, well, go to the bathroom _through a damn tube_ anymore.

Dean put his bare feet on the ground. Actually they were not really bare since both were bandaged from the cuts he had received from walking through the forest and the right ankle was still encumbered in that brace. He kept his back painfully straight to keep his ribs from jarring each other, head down and breathing calmly and steadily. It took less and less time until his head stopped spinning at the motion, still some minutes but hey, still better. Dean found himself holding onto the rack that his IV was attached to, saw Sam arrange the tubes around a hook there so he wouldn't trip over them.

When he thought he was considerably focused, the vertigo under control for now he eased himself out of the bed, putting his weight first on his left foot, then putting his right one down as well, wincing as his ankle protested the stress that was put on it. Sam shifted the IV-rack to his right side, he always mixed them up it seemed, then handed him the crutch he was supposed to use to relive the strain, even though it was darn hard to move with all the equipment he had to carry with him.

Sammy moved against his right side and he automatically put his right arm over his little brother's shoulder, the cast still heavy up to his elbow, encasing his first three fingers as well and leaving only his pinkie and ring-finger free. He put as little weight as possible on his little brother, just needed him to keep his balance, really, or so he told himself. Like that they made it across the room to the little bathroom in the corner and while Dean was sure that Sam would have followed him in there, no questions asked, he was able to prevent this last tiny bit of dignity from slipping through his fingers and sent him away to do this one private business by himself.

When he was back in bed again, hours later it seemed, he felt like he'd just been running a marathon, he was so spent. Two weeks ago he'd been fit enough to actually run a marathon, come to think of it, but hey, you had to deal the cards you had in your hand at the moment, their dad had taught them that much. He'd get better, get his body to cooperate again, kick butts again. It would just take some more time, but he'd get there eventually.

The nurses and even Dr. Parker didn't tire of telling them how great he was doing, really, that few people would be up and about the way he was right now, would have had the strength to get through this at all, let alone this pace. And while he still didn't quite believe them, still felt the urge to push himself further and curse himself for not being stronger, he thought that maybe they were right. Maybe he should really appreciate all that he could do already just a little more. After all, there had been the immediate chance of him loosing some vital organs, if not his damn life. He should be thankful, after all, for all the training their dad had forced on them all these years. Who knew what would have become of him otherwise.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

The physiotherapist came in about an hour later and even though Dean was still thoroughly spent from his earlier visit to the bathroom he pushed past the exhaustion and reluctance to let that damn drill instructor move his limbs in seemingly impossible ways, make him move in ways NO body was meant to move, period.

At least he got to send Sammy away for those sessions. Not that he felt comfortable to let his little brother out of his sight, but Dean had to admit that the kid had to be bored out of his wits by now. Spending days on end in a hospital room, nothing to do but worry, not able to go anywhere, not even watch TV at first for the noise and fast moving pictures would drive Dean insane with headache and nausea. It had gotten better now, they watched a couple of shows during the day and Dean actually found himself enjoying them, too, but still. It had to be pretty boring, no matter how you looked at it.

So he sent him away, and if it was just for those 30 minutes of his official torture, to go down to the cafeteria, grab some magazines, whatever. He just needed to make sure to be back in time because Sam knew that Dean would come after him if he didn't, injuries be damned.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam was awakened by a slight rustle from the bed, a low moan, rapid breathing. He was awake almost instantly, sitting up in his scratchy chair, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Waiting.

The light in the room was dimmed down yet not completely turned off, Sam always made sure of that. He didn't want Dean to panic when waking up so he accepted the fact that he wouldn't sleep too deeply himself in order to make it easier on his brother. For a couple of minutes the room stayed quiet and he was just about to settle back down, as much as his uncomfortable resting place would allow, when there was another sound from the bed. A strangled murmur, choked breathing. Then a low whimper and at that sound Sam pushed himself up in one fluid motion and was at his brother's side in an instant.

They'd been through this at least a couple of times during the past two nights and Sam ought to have gotten used to it by now. Somehow it didn't work that way.

Dean lay curled on his side, IV in a tangle, his left hand grabbing the sheets in a death grip. He was definitely asleep, but his eyes were squeezed shut in obvious distress, deep lines furrowing his brows, lips slightly agape and moving soundlessly. He shifted restlessly, digging his face into the sweat soaked pillow, some stray words making it past his lips, but Sam couldn't make them out. Just like those times before.

Sam slumped down in the chair next to the bed, his second home for an eternity now, resigned himself to do nothing but watch. Because he knew that waking Dean up from this nightmare would leave his brother completely at a loss, utterly panicked and so freaking vulnerable that Sam didn't think he would be able to take that look in his eyes again. He had found out the hard way during the first nightmare, had woken his brother up thinking that he was helping him in doing so and realizing too late that it only served to freak his brother out even more.

That look of utter lost and pain and…fear, seconds only before Dean had been able to shut it out again, was enough to sent Sam's teeth chattering.

It had become a sad routine now, him sitting there watching Dean reliving whatever terror he had gone through, lost in his own dreams. The only thing he could do was to try to offer him what little comfort he could by staying close, holding on to him when his movements got too frantic, making sure his brother knew he wasn't in this alone.

Sure enough, after about an hour of tossing and turning in his somewhat limited movements, Dean finally settled down again, his breathing evening out, muscles gradually loosening and this deep frown that had been plastered onto his face smoothed out once again.

Sam took a deep breath of relief, detached his hand from his brothers arm, flexing his own stiffened fingers to get the blood back in circulation again. He had to admit that this freaked him out – big time. Dean having these intense nightmares but of course not letting on about what was bothering him when Sam tried to talk to him about it.

Of course it had to do with what happened, but his brother still claimed that he didn't remember. So all he could do was wait and see.

He knew that their dad's leaving had shaken Dean more than he would admit. For all the blind faith and devotion Dean had in their dad, this act now had been pretty severe, even he could not have been able to overlook that. Leaving his sons to fend for themselves was pretty hard under normal circumstances, but with Dean's condition the way it had been, still was… It just wasn't fair, no way, that John would put that kind of responsibility on either one of them.

Since it was Dean's job to take care of Sam, always had been that way, there was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean would not, under any circumstances, tell him how he felt about it. No way. His big brother still had this stubborn opinion that he needed protection from everything, that he, Sam, could come out and tell his brother whatever was bothering him, always, but no way was it going to work the other way around.

Screw dad. Seriously. Screw him for laying this crap on them. They'd have to set things straight after he returned.

_Yeah, right. That would be a first. _

Sam sighed again, got up. After making certain that Dean was indeed back to deep and undisturbed sleep, Sam repositioned himself on the stuffed chair, draping his legs over the armrest to catch a little more sleep himself. He'd try talking to his brother again in the morning…not that it would resolve anything, just making sure that Dean knew he wouldn't get off that easy.

Just so he knew someone cared.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean got the distinct impression that Sammy had something on his mind the next morning. The kid was uncharacteristically jittery, avoiding direct eye-contact only to stare at him whenever he thought Dean didn't see it.

He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe Sammy knew about those nightmares that were plaguing him. Even though he could barely remember them himself. They were highly disturbing, that much he knew. Plus they felt so damn real. Lately, though, he didn't seem to wake from them in a cold, panicky sweat anymore and while he couldn't explain it he didn't really feel like getting to the bottom of it. It felt like something was there, with him, in his dreams, to make it all better. At least in his dreams he didn't fell this utter loneliness anymore, not like back then, when it all happened.

Dean debated whether or not he should ask Sammy about it, ask him if he knew. But then he figured that there were more important matters to discuss right now. Something that lay heavily on his mind for some time now, the past couple of days at the least. He decided to take it one after the other and go for this topic first.

"Sammy, we need to talk…" unconsciously repeating the same words his dad had said to him back then. Of course, Sammy didn't know that.

The kid's eyes shot over at him, looking directly at his big brother for the first time today.

"Come over here, will 'ya." Dean patted the bed at his left, indicating for Sammy to sit while carefully shuffling over a bit to make space for his baby brother.

Sam came over reluctantly, climbed onto the bed next to his brother's legs, back resting against the footboard, drawing one leg up to hold on to it – a shield between them, just to make sure.

Dean sat pretty much upright, cradled his right arm against his abdomen while unconsciously starting to pick at the edges of the cast, trying to figure out how to start this. Damn, this was harder than he had thought it would be – definitely harder than it had been in the past.

"It's been six days now…"

No need to say more than that really, and he looked up from under his lashes to check his little brother's reaction. Sam looked at him wide eyed. He didn't seem to have expected that. Dean again looked down and away, continued the abuse on his cast.

"You know…we gotta figure out our next move soon."

He felt the shift of the mattress as Sam moved to draw the other knee up towards his chest, hiding the lower half of his face behind them, clearly nibbling at his lower lip in distress.

"Sam, you know the drill, right? It's been almost a week…"

"But he stayed away longer than that before…" small and defiant at the same time, how the hell did Sam manage to make his voice sound like that?

"Yeah, I know…but this here…I don't know. Did he leave any instructions with you?"

Sam shook his head, looked at Dean now, right at him as if hanging on his every word. Trusting him to do the right thing, make the right decision. For both of them. This was just crap…he needed all his strength to just go to the freaking bathroom by himself, eat a bowl of soup without throwing up. How the hell should he find the strength to make such an important decision right now?

Dean settled his head back against the pillow, blew out a laboured breath.

"OK, I know this sucks. Out loud. But…dad has been gone for almost a week now and you know that sooner or later someone will wonder. We were lucky enough that nothing came up so far. And since we don't have a clue as to when he'll be back…I don't know, I just don't think that we should stay here much longer. You know what will happen if someone finds out that he is not just at work."

Yeah, they both knew what would happen. As soon as anyone got even the slightest hint of their dad being gone, child support would be there in a heartbeat. And they both knew what that meant. It had almost happened once, years ago, when a neighbour had complained to the police about the two boys next door apparently being left alone for over a week now. Their dad had been on a hunt, had been injured and in the hospital some states away. They hadn't known. Dean didn't have a licence back then, still too young, so as soon as they had found out about the neighbours plan to turn them over to child support, they had bolted, in the middle of the night, travelled some endless miles on foot and by bus to make it to Pastor Jim's before anyone found them. It had been a very close call. Dean knew that should the authorities get a hold of them they'd be turned over to foster families, separated for sure. He could not let that happen, no way. Over his dead body.

Problem was, how were they going to get out of this now? Even though Dean highly doubted he'd be able to, he'd still risk trying to run for it, no questions asked. If it meant staying together he'd take the pain and just do it…try to do it, anyway. Then again, how were they going to get away?

"Where's the car?"

Sam looked at him with wide eyes.

"Dean, what the…what do you want to do? There is no way you can drive…besides, they won't release you for some time yet!"

"Sam, where is the car? Nothing happened to her, right? You told me that she was OK!"

"Yeah, Dean, the car is OK. Dad found it at the school's parking lot, drove her back to the motel. But there is no way…you are in no condition to drive. And where exactly would we go? I can't take care of you, not like this. What if something happens…what if this thing, whatever it was that did that to you, what if it comes back? How am I going to protect you…?"

Dean couldn't help but stare at his little brother in shock. When the hell did that happen? When exactly had their roles been reversed?

"_You_ don't need to take care of me, alright? I'm fine, Sammy, we_'ll_ be fine. There is no reason to get all emo over this. _I'm _the big brother, and I'll figure something out…I'll just…I'll just need to think, OK? There has got to be a way. I don't want to loose you, alright? Not after everything…there is no way I'm going to risk loosing you on top of everything. Not after dad…"

OK, so maybe he had taken this a little bit too far just now. Dean stopped his tirade, breathing deeply a couple of times, looking anywhere but straight ahead, anywhere but at Sam. He willed the tears that he felt forming to push back again. No, this couldn't be happening, not here, not in front of Sammy. He needed to be strong, for both of them. The one thing his dad expected him to do, the one thing he trusted him with. He couldn't mess this up. What the hell, that must still be the drugs fogging his brain, him breaking apart like that.

"Dean…" Sam's small voice again, the teary one, too. Always most effective.

Dean realized that he had closed his eyes, for how long he didn't know, so he pulled himself together. He had to stop scaring his brother like that.

"Sammy, no I'm fine. Really. Sorry, I was just…I'm worried too, you know. About dad, about us. But we need to figure out what to do. And we need to be quick about it. Better safe than sorry, right?"

He flashed one of his best smiles, one that would get Sam to smile back eventually. Try as he might, the kid would not be able to resist that smile. Too many had tried before and failed miserably. It always got him his way – just ask the ladies…

Sure enough, Sammy did smile back eventually, maybe not as brightly as Dean had hoped, but it was a start. Get back in the game.

"OK, so if we can't get away by ourselves, we got to get help. Not too many choices there…who should we call, then?"

Sam thought about that. Sadly, there really weren't all that many choices to consider.

"What about Pastor Jim?"

That had been Dean's first thought too, but to be honest, he didn't really know how far away they were, how fast he could be here. Caleb was out of the question, too. Probably even farther away than Jim. That left them with only one choice, really, and one that Dean didn't think as the worst one at all. On the contrary.

Bobby.

As far as he knew they were only a couple of hours away from the seasoned hunter. Dean had always liked Bobby, too, he had taken care of them plenty of times already, had come to the rescue one more than one occasion in the past. Behind all that rough exterior Bobby really had the softest heart, especially when it came to the Winchester boys, loved them like he would love his own sons. Dean knew that and he also knew that Bobby would come and get them, no matter where he was at the moment.

"Bobby, I think we should call Bobby…you still got his number, right?" Bobby's number was one of the first they had to memorize, right after their dad's. Sam nodded.

"OK, so, I think it's best you go and give him a call, tell him…tell him what happened, you know. Just the basics. Tell him we need uncle Bobby to come to the rescue, get us out of here as soon as possible. And Sammy…don't forget to tell him our name…you know, the current one…and while you're at it…Sammy, tell him to hurry…"

tbc

_AN:_

_Ok, so first off I got to say…I just last week finally bought the season 3 DVD of Supernatural. To understand my excitement you probably got to know that in my home country they just started airing season two, which is highly frustrating, I can tell you._

_Of course I already had season two for a while now and thank god amazon offered the next one so I finally get to watch it…and I got to tell you, I think it's awesome. I just now watched "A very supernatural Christmas" and while it sure was a little bit disgusting I still think it was awesome and really, really cute, too._

_Is it my imagination or is this season even funnier than the first two? Ah well, for you this is all old stories, but I'm just so excited so I thought I needed to share a bit of it!_

_Secondly, I again got to tell you how much I appreciate every single review and I hope you'll stick with me to the end of my little story. Which turned out to be a lot longer than I had originally intended, but there were just so many things that came up along the way…it'll probably be two more chapters after this._

_Ok, I stop my ramblings now…I'm in bed with fever so you got to forgive me if I don't make much sense right now! But no worries, the story was finished before the fever struck – unfortunately any weird parts in the story emanate from my "healthy" brain…whatever that says about me…_

_So, as always__, please let me know what you think…I'll update soon!_


	12. Chapter 12

_Still don't own them...too bad!_

_Here comes the next chapter:_

Chapter 12

The call had unsettled him, definitely so, even before Sam had come out in the open and told him what it was all about. Not that it was unusual for the Winchesters to call him for help, far from it. It was just that lately, since they had gotten older, especially since Dean had been old enough to drive, it hadn't been that often anymore…actually not at all.

When they'd been younger, it had happened every once in a while on a fairly regular basis. John had left them somewhere, to go on a hunt of course, hadn't made it back in time. Or else, had been hurt and unable to get back. Usually there had been some kind of plan of action, one that Dean always followed closely. If John hadn't returned after a certain time, Dean would call Bobby, ask him for help, to come get them or simply come and stay with them. Sometimes, when emergencies had occurred, such as one of the boys getting sick or hurt, food running out, neighbours getting curious, something hunting _them_, Dean would call earlier, and of course Bobby would come, no exception.

He loved those boys like he would his own sons, he'd always be there for them.

What had been a little unsettling this time, to begin with, was the fact that it hadn't been Dean who had called him but Sam. It would always be the older boy, he was the one taking care of everything usually. If Sam called it had to mean that something was wrong with Dean. Couldn't be good.

Sam had beat around the bush for a while, asking Bobby to come, please, but not been forthcoming with much more information, reluctant for some reason.

But eventually Sam had caved in, telling Bobby everything, or at least so much it made Bobby's head spin, a flood of words pouring out of the kid, not wanting to stop all of a sudden. The parts that Bobby had caught hadn't been good, that much he knew and he had promised Sam to be there as soon as possible, that he'd get in the car and be on the road within the hour. An all the way he couldn't help himself but curse John Winchester for treating his sons the way he did. Those were two damn fine kids, they didn't deserve this shit. He'd deal with John, this time for sure…Bobby being the only one ever standing up to the man, anyway. Not that it helped, usually, but who knew. Something might get stuck in that thick head of his.

He walked down the fairly empty halls of the hospital now, lights dimmed down since it was already well past 9 pm. Had still taken him a while to get here. He asked his way around until he found the right ward, strode up to the nurse's station. A young black nurse looked up at him, gave him a warm smile.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, hope so. I'm looking for a Dean…Webster. He's a patient here…his brother Sam is staying with him!"

The nurse gave him a wide smile and Bobby immediately knew that Dean had once again found a willing victim to his charm. He couldn't be all that bad when he was already able to charm the women around him.

"I'm the boys' uncle, Bob Singer." Bobby extended a hand to the young woman and Deborah, according to her nametag, shook it warmly.

"Their dad, he asked me to come take care of them. He has to work, can't get away …he's terribly sorry but you know, can't loose his job now, needing the insurance and all…"

The nurse smiled again, came around the counter.

"I'm glad you're here. Seems like the boys spent a whole lot of time on their own, lately. I wasn't going to say anything but I think they could really need some support there."

Bobby nodded, tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, I know. It's been a little rough on all of them. But I'm here now, so it's going to fine! Just, before you show me to their room…I would like to tell me how Dean really is doing…you know, everything. So I can see through the tough guy image he'll put up for his little brother's benefit."

"Yes, I kind of got that impression, too. Still, they appear to be so close, it almost breaks my heart. I wish my own kids would get along half as well…"

Again this knowing smile from the nurse as she led Bobby a little to the side to fill him in on all the gruesome details that Sam somehow seemed to have forgotten to share.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

The light in the room was dim but not completely turned off. Bobby pushed the door open quietly, stepped inside to ease it shut again behind him. He was surprised to find both boys asleep, it was still far too early for both of them to be out like that. But then, they both must be exhausted.

Sam sat hunched on the foot of Dean's bed, curled up against Dean's left leg where he had apparently fallen asleep playing some kind of card game with his brother…the cards now abandoned on the table between the boys. Bobby had to smile at the awkward position the younger boy was slumped in. If he let him sleep like that the kid would have one hell of a kinked neck in the morning.

His eyes travelled over to where Dean lay and he had to swallow hard on the sight. The boy lay on his back, headboard raised up so he sat more or less upright. Event though the blanket covered most of his body up to his chest he looked painfully thin, must have lost so much weight over the past weeks. The bruising on his face had already faded considerably but Bobby could still make out the severity of the injuries caused and couldn't help but wince in sympathy. He was also still way too pale, dark smudges underneath his eyes shadowed even more by long, slightly curled up lashes. His left wrist was only lightly bandaged anymore while a heavy cast still encased his right wrist and most of the fingers. Other than that Bobby couldn't see any of the other injuries he knew to be there, hidden underneath the covers and layers of bandages.

He stood there for an eternity, watching them, thinking about whether or not to wake them, finally deciding against it. They needed their sleep. He'd just make sure that he would be there when they woke up.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Sam woke up to a stiff neck and the beginning of a pounding headache. He pried his eyes open, taking in the cards strewn out across the little table in front of him. He groaned inwardly at the screwed up position he was lying in. Lifting his head carefully to not wake Dean with the sudden movement he rotated his neck, feeling stiffened muscles snapping back into place. One look at his brother told him that he was still out, at least still sleeping peacefully, not plagued by those nightmares again. Maybe it was the physical contact keeping him calm, Sam wondered silently.

Then suddenly he tensed.

Someone else was in the room with them. He was trained well enough as a hunter to sense someone else there with them, hidden in the shadowed corner of the room, low breathing almost inaudible.

_SHIT._

Sam tried to stay calm on the outside, keep his body relaxed so he wouldn't give himself away. His mind was working in overdrive though, eyes frantically searching his immediate surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon against whatever was lurking in the corner. His eyes fell on the knitting needle one of the nurses had given Dean to be able to scratch underneath the itching cast on his wrist. It wasn't particularly sharp but still usable as a weapon, sort of. The thing lay on the nightstand next to Dean's other side.

Sam judged the distance, tried to determine how far away the stranger's breathing appeared to be. If he hauled himself up and across his brother he might be able to reach the needle, problem was he would not only wake Dean in the process but definitely hurt him in doing so. While his mind was still reeling, he realized that the rhythm of the breathing changed ever so slightly and before his still sleep-clogged brain could decide on a course of action a voice suddenly spoke in a low, soft tone. Only two words, but they immediately broke down his tension and he almost sobbed out in relief.

"Hey Sam!"

"Bobby…"

Somehow Sam still managed to crawl out of the bed without jostling Dean or waking him up but as soon as he was out he rushed over to the older hunter and basically threw himself into his arms.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Bobby had wanted to go outside, just out the door and talk to Sam so they wouldn't wake Dean but of course the kid wouldn't hear of it. So they ended up in the farthest corner of the room, talking in low voices, always in sight of the bed so they'd see when Dean would wake up, could be there right away.

What worried Bobby was the fact that Dean didn't wake during their little chat, the older Winchester usually highly alert even in sleep. That really did show how weak he still was. He made Sam tell him again, everything that the boy knew, which, knowing John and Dean, probably wasn't half the truth, but it was enough to give him the rough picture. That and the information he had gotten out of the nurse plus everything he was still planning on getting from the doctor would give him something to work with.

He was so going to kick John's butt the second he got a hold of him…

Dean didn't wake until the early morning hours and while the greeting he gave Bobby wasn't quite as impulsive and emotional as Sam's had been Bobby still felt the utter relief that flooded the boy as he realized that they weren't alone in this anymore, some freakingly heavy weight been lifted off his shoulders.

Immediately the question of them leaving had been raised, by Dean of course, who couldn't stand hospitals, period and was about to bolt the minute he saw his chance in Bobby who had come to the rescue. The older hunter had been able to, with much difficulty, persuade the stubborn kid to hang in there for a couple of more days, had promised to talk to the doctor about the subject. He still wasn't entirely sure where John had gone to, had gotten some leads from some of his sources but hadn't been able to confirm the oldest Winchester's whereabouts for certain. Just taking the boys and leaving somehow didn't seem right, he wasn't their father, after all. He was a little bit surprised to find out that John had actually put down Bobby's name on the list of relatives allowed to be left in charge of the boys.

That, of course, made things considerably easier. For one, he wouldn't need to spring them from the hospital, which would have been no small feat what with Dean's still weakened condition. It still left him with the decision on when exactly to take them and leave. According to the doctors Dean still wasn't in the condition to leave, needed to rest and get his strength back, while the boy himself saw things differently.

Bobby agreed that he would probably heal a lot faster once he was out of there. He shared the boy's distaste for hospitals, understood his urge to leave and heal in a more comfortable environment. Since Bobby didn't plan on staying in whatever crappy motel the Winchesters had set up their latest camp in, he had made the decision in taking them home with him. There at least they would have a room to themselves, some peace and quiet. Some half decent food, even though he had no idea how he was going to manage that, home cooking not really being his turf.

Time to heal.

Sam still clung to the idea that their dad was going to come back but while Dean never came out in the open and actually say it Bobby could see the silent defeat in the older boy's eyes, as if he'd lost faith. Bobby decided that, even though he himself was mad as hell at John for leaving his sons like that, he couldn't let Dean lose trust in his father, no matter what. It was what kept him going, after all. John might have made a lot of mistakes in his life, one of his biggest most definitely leaving his boys in a situation like this, but he was their father after all. And you could think whatever you wanted about him, but he did love his sons, more than his own life. And while Bobby himself could not imagine what would drive a man you leave his boys like that he figured that John probably had his reasons and if it was only because he thought he was protecting them from _something._

Bobby watched Dean push himself to his limits the next couple of days, the prospect of getting away from the hated hospital apparently giving him renewed strength. That and the fact that he was not carrying the weight of responsibility on his own shoulders anymore. Both Bobby and Sam had their hands full with keeping Dean in line and stop him from overexerting himself. Sam hardly ever left his big brother's side, which probably was just as well.

Finally, on his second day, Bobby took Sam with him to the motel they'd been staying at to pack their few possessions. The only thing they had to leave behind was the Impala and Bobby knew that he'd have to break that to Dean very carefully and definitely at the right moment. He'd come back for the car, sure thing, but it might still be some time until Dean would be up to drive her back to Bobby's place which was a couple of hours away after all.

Bobby helped Sam load their two duffels into the trunk of his own truck, then sent the kid to the office to say his farewells to Mrs. Bishop, the nice motel-owner who had helped them out during those first dreadful days. The room was still paid for till the end of the month and Bobby left it at that, Sam only asking for them to be allowed to leave the Impala in the lot until they could come back to pick it up.

Sam, of course, was worried about school – he hadn't been back there since the "accident", had missed almost two weeks already and knew that he was not going to be able to go back there, ever. Truth be told, Bobby had no idea how to handle that. He had called the school to make sure that they knew about the boys' absence but had found out that John had already handled that. So he chose to wait until John came back…which could be anywhere from days to weeks from now, but he'd let him handle it in time. If push came to shove he'd figure something out eventually.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Bobby had tried to talk to Sam about Dean, had tried to coax at least part of the truth out of him. It wasn't hard to figure out that something was off with those two, apart from the obvious. Both were keeping something from him, but somehow Bobby couldn't shake the feeling that they were keeping something from each other as well. At least Dean was, no doubt protecting his little brother or so the stubborn kid thought. And Sammy hid something too, only that he was more obvious about it than his bigger brother, who was a professional when it came to hiding his feelings, under normal circumstances. If the kid hadn't been in so much pain Bobby was sure he would have had a much harder time to find something amiss.

Cracking Sam had been fairly easy. On their little field trip to the motel, the kid had finally opened up, telling Bobby about the dreams Dean was having, nightmares was more like it. Telling him not the whole truth, he was sure of it, but he got a pretty good picture of how it frightened the kid, not even being able to wake his brother because he couldn't stand to see the devastation in his eyes. Because Sammy knew that keeping his game face on, especially in front of his baby-brother meant more to Dean than anything.

Bobby slowly came to imagine the strain Sammy had to have been under this last week or so before he came along. Not knowing what had attacked his brother, Dean apparently not remembering, or, more likely, not sharing what he did. Those two being alone in this and Sammy, only 12 after all, in charge to watch out for his brother who would most definitely not be able to fight should that thing come after him again.

God, he must have been so scared. That and seeing his strong, older brother so weak, so vulnerable, his hero basically broken in front of him, it had to have been hell. For both of them. This whole thing went both ways.

Bobby had wanted to talk to Dean, too, but it was close to impossible with his little brother around all the time. Dean would never open up with him there so Bobby had to find a way to get to him alone.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Back at the hospital, their duffels stored safely in Bobby's truck, the older hunter sent Sam off to the cafeteria, gave him a couple of dollars to treat himself to something sweet and some magazines with the unspoken hint to stay gone for a while. And while he was sure that Sammy had a pretty good idea on what he had planned out, for once the kid complied without discussion.

The older hunter approached the younger one carefully, pulling up the chair that had practically been imprinted with an image of Sammy's backside over the last couple of days and settled himself next to Dean.

Dean eyed him suspiciously. The kid wasn't stupid, he knew something was different when Bobby had sent his little brother away.

"So, I talked to your doctor and he said we could get you out of here tomorrow…"

At that Dean's face lit up ever so slightly, lips tugging into an involuntary smile.

"He's not overly excited about it, mind you. Would still like to keep you around for a couple of days. But of course I told him that there was no way you'd go for it. Told him he was lucky you went with it this far."

Dean wouldn't miss the slight irony in these words but Bobby didn't care. The kid couldn't quite wipe that smile off his face, too. If that wasn't worth it Bobby didn't know what would be. He had hardly had any reason to smile for far too long now.

"There are a few conditions, though." He got Dean to nod his assent before going on.

"I'll take you guys back to my place. I know the drive won't be too much fun but better than staying at that dump of a motel, right? Once there, you stay in bed or on the sofa, sleep and watch TV, eat the food we give you, take your medication. The moment you feel funny, something hurts out of the ordinary, you let us know. No fooling around on this one, Dean, you got it? This is still serious. If those stitches reopen, the internal injuries start bleeding again we gotta react right away. With that many broken ribs to top it off, you can't move around too much, period, not for a while. You do exactly what I tell you, no taking risks on this one. You take it easy, rest, give yourself time to heal. I know you feel like hell, no use denying it, but pushing yourself too far, being angry at yourself is not going to help you get better any sooner, on the contrary. You gotta let Sam and me help you, Dean. You're not alone in this, got that?"

Dean had looked directly at Bobby during most of his little speech, but at the last two sentences his eyes had shadowed over again, head not turning but eyes averting reluctantly from the hunter's face.

Bobby could see him struggling but he wasn't going to let him off the hook easily, not this time.

"Dean, are we clear on this?"

"Yeah Bobby, whatever you say. Just as long as you get me out of here."

Still not looking at him so Bobby kept staring at the young man, thinking of how to handle this. He didn't really have all that much experience in getting kids to talk, especially Winchesters. Give him a demon to exorcise any day… but this?

"I know there is something you are not telling me, Dean. But if it's got something to do with whatever did this to you, you better spill it now. I got to know everything there is to know in order to be able to protect you guys…"

Again Dean didn't answer, his eyes glued to a very interesting spot in his lap, fingers of his left hand tracing nervous patterns on his hospital gown.

"Dean…"

"Bobby, no. I already talked about this with dad…there is nothing I remember. Nothing you can do to help besides everything you already are doing. You just get us out of here and as far away as possible. I'll be alright then, I promise."

Bobby hadn't missed the way Dean's voice shook slightly at the mention of his dad, the way his eye flicked up to him for the beat of a second, then quickly shot away again. Well wasn't that just great. The guilt John was able to instill in his sons when he himself was the one who had messed up. Royally.

John Winchester left and Dean felt guilty as hell. He was so going to have a little talk with John once he got back.

Bobby took off his ever present baseball cap, ran a hand through his hair, put the cap back on. Stalling tactic – he knew. Whatever it took.

He forced himself to soften his voice. Not that he usually meant to snap or speak harshly to the kid, it was just the way he usually spoke. It was also the tone of voice Dean would be most likely to obey to. His dad's military-like training having paid off, apparently. But Bobby couldn't, wouldn't force Dean into sharing this. This he had to do on his own accord.

"Dean, this isn't your fault…you know that, right?"

Again that flicker of…something…in his eyes. Guilt and pain and fear and something else…

"Yeah, I know." Defiant and almost angry now. Definitely not accepting.

"No, Dean, I mean it. None of this is. You can't be that st…you can't have that low an opinion of yourself. You did good, everything you could. You survived, after all, made it back. Few people would have been strong enough."

Dean grunted at that, immediately wincing, too, as the slight huff strained his chest.

"Yeah, well…you go tell dad…" _SHIT. _

From the panicked look that immediately crept into the kid's eyes Bobby saw clearly that Dean hadn't intended to say that out loud. He turned at least two shades whiter, too, and that was no small feat considering how pale he already was.

Dean tried to turn away from him then, moving over despite the pain it apparently caused him. Immediately Bobby put a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder, holding him back and in place.

"Dean, your dad knows…he knows it wasn't your fault. Why would you even think that?"

Another bitter grunt, a little more subdued this time but still not answering, still refusing to look at him.

"Dean, look at me. This has nothing to do with you, alright? Your dad left because he is an idiot, I'll give you that. He shouldn't have left, no doubt, but I can assure you that it wasn't because of anything you did or said."

Dean said nothing for the longest of times, apparently working on getting up the courage though, trying to sort his tumbled thoughts, bring them in the right order. Bobby gave him time, sitting by patiently, waiting. He was not gonna press him, but neither was he going to let him get out of this, not this time. When he finally did speak, he still didn't look at Bobby directly, but at least he spoke.

"What makes you so sure?" His voice sounded raspy, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. Close to cracking but not quite there yet. And Bobby knew Dean would fight it with every bit of strength left in him.

"You of all people should know that your dad…he can get a little…obsessive, when it comes to hunting, right? I mean, this isn't the first time he took off, not the first time he left you guys alone. I won't argue with you on how inappropriate a time this is, but that's just your father. Dean, he's made mistakes, plenty of them. You can say whatever you want about John, but you can't say that he doesn't love you guys with all his heart…"

Again Dean was quiet for a minute or two, his eyes shadowed by long lashes, not giving anything away, as usual.

"Dean, your dad loves you, both of you. Believe me, he would never be disappointed in you, he loves you too damn much." Too much for his own good, sometimes.

There was no way of telling if Dean believed him or not. Bobby could see him struggling, trying, wanting to believe more than anything. How could that be so damn hard?

The kid had started to close up again and Bobby knew that once he had, there was no going back. He had no idea what had happened to make Dean feel so strongly about this. The kid usually did load heaps and heaps of responsibility and guilt onto his own back, but this was pretty heavy, even for him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Bobby tried again. He was one hundred percent sure now that Dean knew exactly what had happened. He was almost as sure that he was not going to share. It surprised him even more when Dean gave him a smile, and not one of his cocky devil-may-care smiles but an actually genuine one. A little sad and insecure, as if he didn't really know how to handle this, but it was a start.

"You know, Bobby, I think I do need some time to…deal with this whole caring and sharing kind of thing here…"

Another smile, already a little more _Dean_ this time. The pieces slowly falling back into place again.

"But I promise that you'll be the first to know once I'm ready."

Back in full mode now, but Bobby still knew that something had stuck. Something in his eyes that was…genuine. A thank you – unspoken but screaming loud and clear through those intense green eyes of his, betraying his cocky words. Somehow Bobby knew that Dean actually meant it, that he'd tell him once he was ready – if he should ever be, however doubtful that might be. But it was the thought that counted, right?

"So, you are going to spring me tomorrow, huh?"

Bobby actually had to smile at how easily Dean slipped back into his game.

"Yeah, if you're up to it. Unless you wanna stay and take another hit at the nurses."

"Nah, I think I'm good. Besides, the other patients need the attention I've been drawing away from them."

Oh yes, Dean Winchester was back, no doubt about that. A little worse for wear, but back. Bobby was about to get up, find Sam and get him back to his brother's side when Dean reached out to actually grab a hold of his arm.

"Bobby, one more thing. I need to ask you a favour."

"Sure, whatever you want, kiddo."

"Tomorrow, when we're out of here…I need you to take me somewhere…There's someone I need to see before we leave."

Tbc

_AN:_

_Alright, only one more chapter to go after this. I hope you still like it. _

_I'm just going to risk sounding like a broken record here and say thanks again for all the wonderful and encouraging reviews – you guys are awesome! Just keep them coming, I really, honestly thrive on them!_

_The last chapter will be up next week._

_Take care._


	13. Chapter 13

_OK, here it goes – the last chapter. I hope everyone is still with me and just in case I still need to say I – don't own them or much of anything else…_

_Enjoy!_

Chapter 13

Dean barely made it through his breakfast the next morning. Not because it didn't taste good, which…it didn't, come to think of it, but mainly because he was just too damn anxious to leave already. Fearing that by waiting too long someone would figure out they'd made a mistake and make him stay after all.

Both Sam and Bobby stayed on during the final examination Dr. Parker gave him, no doubt making sure that Dean would not be able to keep any of the instructions and warnings he was given to himself. Dean sat and nodded through the whole ordeal, but was silently glad that Bobby was there too, because he really didn't think he would be able to remember all he was being told. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even and low, his eyes open while they changed his bandages, wrapped his ribs more tightly than before. His cast they had renewed the night before, so at least that wouldn't keep him from getting away any longer.

He saw the distraught looks on both his brother's and Bobby's face at the sight of his bare back and chest, his abdomen. He realized that they both hadn't seen the full extend of his injuries up until now. But if he just stared straight ahead, right at the doctor, he could almost pretend that their eyes weren't staring daggers into him, could pretend it was nothing, really. Dean wasn't used to feeling so self-conscious about his own body, never had had a reason to. With time, these scars would just melt in with the others, the older ones, grow fainter and fainter until there was barely anything else left but the memories. He just doubted that those would ever go away for good.

Somehow he apparently managed to nod at the appropriate times in the doctor's speech because finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor came over to shake his hand – the left one, how considerate.

"You take care now…and take it easy, Dean. You did good so far, don't push yourself too fast, alright? And remember, a week from now you go see a doctor, get the stitches out and let them take a once over…do some x-rays to make sure your ribs are healing alright…"

At the doctor's somewhat stern look Dean nodded solemnly. Even though he doubted that it would happen quite that way. At least in removing the stitches they didn't need a doctor for…both Bobby and even Sam having plenty of experience in taking them out at home. About these once-overs, he knew it would be a lot harder to convince his two watch-dogs otherwise, so he'd need to think it over, see if he could find a way out of it.

Dr. Parker gave him another stern look that couldn't quite hide the smile that played on his lips and left the room.

Bobby excused himself right away, going after the man and Dean knew that they were discussing this whole thing over again, the older hunter no doubt getting written instructions and numerous bottles of pills and yet more instructions on how to administer them.

He knew he should probably feel patronized by their behaviour but just couldn't bring himself to get upset over the matter. It was nice to have someone care for him, to be honest. Plus, right now he had enough on his hands as it was, namely, trying to get dressed.

He had planned on doing it himself. Stubborn? Maybe, but it was his damn right. He couldn't stand his body betraying him the way it did as it was, having to accept help getting dressed just seemed to be too much at the moment.

With Sammy sitting in his usual chair, pointedly _not_ watching while of course doing just that out of the corner of his eyes Dean slowly sat up, suspiciously eyeing the now closed door as if to make sure that nobody was lurking behind it to burst in on him just when he was stark-naked.

Getting his gown off was fairly easy. Pulling the grey shirt that Sammy had brought over his injured arm and head proved to be a much harder task already, muscles in arms and shoulders sore and stiff with lack of use, but still he did manage. It ended there, though. He realized that there was no way he was going to be able to bend over far enough to pull his jeans up by himself, a sharp pull in his abdomen, a stab in his chest pointing that out to him very impressively. He groaned, got even more frustrated when he realized that Sam was not going to come to the rescue unasked, not this time.

"Sammy…I could use a little help over here…"

It took all Dean's willpower not to snap at his little brother, to keep his voice even. God, he was so frustrated already and he wasn't even out of the damn hospital yet. Better not think about the days to come. He forced himself to calm down. It wasn't the kid's fault. Sammy had done nothing but help him, support him without ever complaining about anything. Still, this was just so damn humiliating.

Sammy helped him put his feet through the jean's legs, helped him stand up and then proceeded to pull the damn pants up over his hips. Dean just closed his eyes and let it happen, tried not to think about it too much. Just when Sam was about to go buttoning him up he had enough though and gently but decisively pushed Sammy's hands aside to struggle with the buttons himself. Not easy with the damn cast but not impossible.

He needed help with his socks, too, and lacing the boots needed to be done as well so Dean just resigned himself to it, watching Sammy do it with such implicitness it seemed almost casual, as if it had never been different.

Dean had to smile at the memory of himself lacing up little Sammy's shoes when he had been younger. It seemed to have been not all that long ago, come to think of it. But if you looked at them now it seemed like an eternity nonetheless. Still it did feel wrong seeing his baby brother do it for him now, big brother prerogative and all.

When he was done Sam rocked back on his heels, locked up at him expectantly.

"You OK? Anything else you need?"

Dean shook his head worked himself into his over shirt.

"No, Sammy, I'm good."

Sam smiled at him, got up to throw some things into his own duffel. Books and some magazines, all the little things the two of them had somehow managed to splatter across the room during the past weeks of their stay. Dean just watched him clean up after them meticulously, much like every time they moved out of a motel after a hunt, taking everything with them, nothing to be left behind.

When Sam was done he placed the bag next to the door, ready for them to leave anytime. He then came over to where Dean was still sitting on the edge of his bed, painfully straight but not for all the money in the world was he going to lie down in that bed again. Sam hopped up to sit next to him, hands resting in his lap, their shoulders just short of touching. They sat like that for a while, just waiting for Bobby to come back.

There were so many things Dean wanted to say, should be saying, but somehow couldn't. He'd never been good with words, not in this department. He cleared his throat unconsciously before saying in the softest of voices:

"Thanks, Sammy."

_Now that hadn't been too hard._

He felt the bed shift as Sam straightened himself, turned to look at him with an incredulous look.

"What for?"

_For being there for me…for holding my hand and not making a big deal out of it…for staying with me when I can't wake up__ – and yes, I do know about it - and for still being there when I finally do... for still believing in me, for not loosing faith._

"Well, you know…everything…"

Sam just stared at him for a while longer and Dean finally got himself to look right at the kid, seeing the confusion in his eyes.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Yeah you did…just…don't look at me like that. I'm fine, just thought I should tell you...well…you know...thanks for everything. Don't make a big deal out of it."

But it was…to Dean it was a big deal. Because in all honesty, what would he have done without Sam?

Sam just kept staring at him and Dean challenged him to it until finally the kid looked away.

"Uhm…you're welcome. You know there is nothing to thank me for, though. You would have done the same for me."

Dean shrugged noncommittal. Sure he would have, he was the big brother after all. He'd changed Sammy's diapers, there was nothing that could faze him anymore. He chose not to tell his little brother though.

Another couple of minutes of silence passed between them.

"Dean, dad's gonna come back, right? We're going to be OK…right?"

Now where the hell had that come from? Dean didn't need to think about the right answer for more than a second though. It was the only answer that was acceptable, after all.

"Sure, Sam. He'll be back as soon as he has taken care of this…whatever it is he's after right now. Try not to worry too much. We'll be fine, you'll see. I'll make sure of that."

He didn't know how he did it, especially now in his so not reliable state, but Sam nodded, satisfied with the answer. He looked almost relieved, tension draining out of his body. How he got his little brother to trust him like that was beyond Dean but it made his heart swell with love and pride and, just like that, he felt so much better. Far from OK, but he'd get there…they would get there. He was almost sure of it now.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

When Bobby finally re-entered their room he had to give the boys just one look to be sure that they were more than ready to leave this place, Dean almost out of bed before the older hunter had completely cleared the doorway, and who could blame them after all. Still there was something he needed to discuss with them before they could finally go. Dean fidgeted impatiently on the bed, not willing to lie down again or even lean back for support, not willing to give in to his body's needs just yet.

From the serious look on the older hunter's face Dean could sense that it was something that he wouldn't like to hear, probably, and for a second there his breath caught in his throat. Surely Bobby wasn't going to confront him, again, not in front of Sammy? He loved Bobby, with all his heart, but he wasn't sure he would be able to forgive him something like this, not when he had thought he could trust the older man.

Bobby stood in front of them, like the father he almost was, looking down on his two charges while absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. Finally, he sat down in the chair as if suddenly remembering that it was even there, leaning in towards them, now actually positioned lower then them.

"Your father called me this morning…"

Now _that_ had been a tad unexpected.

Dean thought he could actually hear Sam's jaw drop and he really didn't need to look at his little brother to be able to see those eyes as big as saucers right about now. His own face he kept straight and guarded, almost painfully so and it took all his self-restraint not to blurt out what he really wanted to ask right now.

Sure enough, Sammy took care of that for him.

"What did he say? Is he alright? When will he come back?"

"Well, Sam, why don't we take it one after the other, shall we? So, yeah, he did call the hospital to ask how you were doing and they told him that I was here now so he called me instead. He's really sorry that he couldn't make it back sooner, you know. He went on a hunt, over in Washington State, thought it was a simple thing but it turned out to be a bit more than he anticipated…"

"But he IS alright, is he?"

Sammy again all worry and fear and Dean could feel his brother unconsciously moving closer towards him, seeking the security his older brother always seemed to be able to provide him with in the past.

And Dean really, honestly wanted to reach out and offer all the comfort he could give right now, only he somehow couldn't, his mind and body too numb to process the signals he'd been trained to react to so well over the last 12 years or more.

"Yeah, he is Ok, as far as I could tell…a little banged up but nothing serious. He's teaming up with another hunter in a couple of days to end it, then he'll be on his way to my place, pick you guys up. I told him he'd have to stick with us for a while though, that you guys won't be going anywhere anytime soon! Not until tough guy here is up on his feet again."

Bobby spoke to both of them but his eyes were trained on Dean the whole time and Dean couldn't help but blink a couple of times under the close scrutiny.

What was he supposed to do, how was he supposed to react? He was afraid to look Bobby in the eyes for fear of what he might see there. Was the older hunter actually telling the truth, or was this just a way to make up for yet another failure of their dad?

Whichever it was, Dean resolved then and there that he would play along with it, for Sammy's sake, and maybe just a tiny bit for himself, as well. He looked up and straight at the older hunter, forcing his hands to relax in his lap to keep up the appearance of calm.

Bobby couldn't have missed the look, or the lack thereof so far and as soon as he caught Dean's eyes with his own he held on to them, pleading with him to believe him. And that look was enough to make Dean believe, in an instant.

Bobby never had lied to them so far, not even when the truth had been anything but pretty. He had never spared them any of the most gruesome details, even when they were far younger and most people most definitely would have lied to them out of the believe that they'd protect them from the terrible things in life.

Not so Bobby. Always straightforward, always treating them as equals, too. Accepting them as who they really were and that included Dean being Sammy's protector so whenever the older hunter had had something to say to them, he'd run it by Dean first, getting his permission, kind of, even though he most certainly never needed to.

"You know, your dad's awfully sorry he can't be here right now. Said to tell you hi and not to worry, he'll be there as fast as he can. Apparently he didn't think you'd make it out this fast. Told me to make sure you take it easy, that he'd have your hide if you did anything stupid and make life difficult for your brother and me…got that, sport?"

It took all Dean's will not to crack but instead he just nodded, quickly and almost invisibly, letting Bobby know that he was with him, that he understood. Lowering the walls just an inch or two to thank him for what he was doing.

"Did he relive me of cleaning-up-duty too? Because I really think I'm far too weak to do the laundry and the washing up for still a while to come, you know?"

Dean was amazed himself by how well is voice worked, not giving away what his eyes were saying.

Bobby actually laughed at that, still keeping eye-contact though and Sam grumbled unhappily next to him, murmuring something underneath his breath.

"What was that, Sammy?" Dean nudged his brother gently in the ribs, finally breaking contact with Bobby when casting an almost amused glance at his little brother.

"I said great, now I get to do all your chores…it's not fair, you know?"

"Oh yeah? Well, you know, life isn't always fair, Sammy. Better get used to it."

But it was all light brotherly banter and even Sam had to smile at him, nudging him back ever so slightly.

"Still, I'm not going to wash your dirty socks. No way."

Dean huffed at that, which was all he could do right about now. It still hurt too damn much to laugh out in the open. Just as he was about to shoot a smart remark back at Sam, Bobby chose to cut the brotherly banter short, though.

"Well, we'll see about that, alright guys? Now I say I go get the nurse so we can get you out of here. Still got a long drive ahead of us!"

With a last reassuring nod at Dean Bobby left the room.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Bobby returned only a couple of minutes later.

Unfortunately, along with the hunter came a nurse pushing a wheelchair that she insisted Dean should sit in for them to wheel him out of the hospital.

Dean had fought her over it, but just for show really because in secret he wasn't all that eager to walk any longer distances yet, the crutch being more of a hindrance than actual help to him. He didn't once turn back as they wheeled him down the endless halls to the exit, shaking a couple of nurses' hands on the way. Apparently his charm had still worked pretty well, even with him all messed up as it had been.

At first he'd been sorely disappointed at the sight of Bobby's old truck waiting for them out in the parking lot. But of course…what else had he expected? The Impala was safe and sound at the motel-parking lot they had told him. Of course Bobby would use his own car to get them back to his place. Still he was just a little bit sad, he hadn't seen his girl in such a long time. But he didn't show how he felt about it, silently accepted Sam's and Bobby's help in getting into the car. Once he was in he leaned his head back against the worn vinyl of the seat, slid down until the pain in his chest and abdomen was reduced to but an ever present yet dull pressure and closed his eyes to let out a deep sigh. Not home, not his baby, but at least he was out. He hadn't felt that relieved in a long time.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean tried to find the most comfortable position to sit in. He had fought and won Sam over who got to sit in front, riding shotgun. He was the older one, after all, it should be his prerogative. Of course he knew that he would probably be more comfortable in the back, would be able to lie down and rest because the journey sure would be long and probably painful as well. But there was this one thing he needed to do first and for that he needed to be up and alert, couldn't afford to be sluggish and sleepy.

He gave Bobby the address and then busied himself with watching the scenery fly past the window until finally, after about twenty minutes, the car pulled to a stop in front of a well kept, two-story house. Bobby stopped as close to the curb as possible and before Dean could so much as say anything, let alone touch the door handle Sammy was out and by the door, getting it open for him and extending a hand to help him get out.

He considered denying the help briefly but thought better of it and accepted, let his little brother steady him until he was stable on his feet, took the offered crutch and started limping up the drive towards the front door of the house.

Suddenly he wasn't so sure that this had been the right decision anymore. He faltered, ever so slightly, the cane catching his vertigo in time and in an instant both Bobby and Sam were by his side to steady him.

"Dean, what is it. Are you OK?"

He waved them off distractedly. This wasn't anything physical, not right now. They didn't know, didn't need to. Probably never. Certainly not now. It was hard enough to keep his focus as it was.

Dean took a step forward then, willing himself to place one foot in front of the other. Both Bobby and Sam started to guide him up the driveway, like watchdog on either side of him without touching. Just there to make sure, to be there when needed. Halfway up the drive Dean stopped, took a step back so they had to turn around and look at him.

"Sorry guys…but this is something I need to do by myself."

He noted their confused faces and added quickly:

"It's just someone I need to say goodbye to. I'd like to do this by myself. If you don't mind staying with the car, I'll just be a minute."

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Dean covered the rest of the way by himself, hesitated only a second before knocking.

Sam watched his brother from his vantage point on the front-passenger seat, trying hard to appear nonchalant. Bobby leaned next to the open door, arms crossed before his chest. Both didn't try to hide that they were watching Dean, though.

It took almost a minute until the door was finally opened and a woman in her early forties appeared at the door, listening to something Dean said and nodded before disappearing back into the house, leaving the door open. Dean apparently didn't want to go inside to wait, he shot a quick look over his shoulder as if to check if they were still there, leaning a little on the doorframe, but standing tall and steady nonetheless. If anything, he appeared a little too composed but you wouldn't know if you didn't know him well enough. Which most people didn't.

Finally, another couple of minutes later, a girl about Dean's age appeared in the doorway and even from where Sam was sitting, too far away to actually make out any details or hear anything that was being said, he could see her tense at the sight of his brother, shrink back immediately. She was about to close the door on him but Dean held out a hand, his cast-covered one, to keep the door open and she hesitantly complied.

Sam wanted to get up to move in closer, wanted to hear what was being said. He knew his brother's body language better than anyone else and there clearly was too much tension there for it to be just the casual encounter that Dean had made them believe it would be.

Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite alright.

The girl had wrapped her arms around her body now, drawing her cardigan closer around herself as if trying to hide between the comforting folds of the fabric. They kept a far enough distance not to be able to touch so Sam quickly ruled out that she might have been a girl Dean had dated like he had first thought. What else was confusing was the fact that his brother's posture clearly suggested forced relaxation, something his brother knew how to do so well. He appeared completely at ease while at the same time instilling this sense of…urgency…seriousness, some sort of power that always made people nervous. He used this matter of intimidation well, had mastered it and even though his body now clearly wasn't up to the task there still was something there. It seemed to work quite effectively on the girl, too.

They stood there for a while. Dean appeared to do most of the talking, the girl only listened, shrinking even further into herself if that was even possible. Well, it would be understandable if you considered the way Dean still looked. Maybe they had been friends and he was telling her now what happened…but then, he didn't remember, right?

They talked for about five minutes, tops, but it seemed a lot longer. Dean stood strong and unwavering the whole time while the girl seemed to deteriorate right before his eyes. Finally, very abruptly, Dean turned around, leaving his leverage point on the doorframe and started limping back towards the car. The girl didn't waste much time, she stared after him for only a second or two before hurriedly retreating back into the house closing the door with a little too much haste behind her. Sam was almost sure he heard the lock turn right after, which of course was nonsense, it was just something that sprang to mind in the situation.

Dean walked tall until about halfway back down the drive before his steps again faltered slightly. He didn't fall, caught himself just in time, but it was enough to spring both Bobby and Sam into action, hurrying up to meet him and this time Dean let them help, accepted Bobby's arm around his waist and Sam's reassuring hand at his elbow.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Together they made it back to the car without speaking. Dean's breathing a little forced and pained, his lips closed too tightly to be nonchalant anymore. He allowed them to lead him up to the curb, carefully lowered himself into the offered backseat of the truck, not complaining or arguing about not sitting up front. He was spent, really, just wanted to lie down and rest. The backseat would do just fine. He lowered himself down until his head hit the seat, scooped back until he was as far in as he could go, head now resting against the armrest on the opposite door. Someone tugged up his legs, bedded his brace-clad foot carefully onto something soft, before closing the door.

He heard the front doors slamming shut but the car didn't start so Dean again cracked open his lids to find two sets of eyes watching him intently from the front seats. Both of them questioning and definitely a little worried, too. He flashed a smile, wide and not at all insincere, just a little worse for wear maybe.

"Whenever you're ready…"

"So, kiddo. Care to tell us what this was all about?" The gentle gruffness of Bobby's voice making Dean's smile freeze in place, but he did manage to keep it there.

"Yeah, Dean, who was that anyway?" Sammy now leaning closer, feeling a lot braver with Bobby there as backup.

Dean quickly contemplated his options and came up with only one possible strategy. It was two against one now, not really fair but he thought he could deal with it. He had prepared a story to tell, just in case, had known that they would group up against him eventually and was actually surprised that they had waited this long to get a go at him.

"She…that was Janie. She was in my class. I just…I wanted to tell her goodbye. Just wanted to make sure she knew…that I was leaving. Wanted to make sure she knew…I would not forget about her. I told her I'd keep an eye on her, catch up with her in a while, maybe…"

He thought he'd done a pretty good job in keeping his voice even, his emotions in check. Dean didn't look directly at them but past them through the windshield, focused on something else so they wouldn't see the lie in his eyes. He didn't trust himself entirely anymore lately. Even though, it wasn't a lie really, not flat out. He'd told her all that…only for a different reason than they'd assume.

Dean had told her that he knew, that he still knew and wouldn't forget. That he'd have an eye on her, on them and that he'd be back, in a heartbeat, if they'd ever tried anything, ever again, on anyone. And then he wouldn't hesitate, not one second.

He'd been concerned about whether or not his still weakened appearance would even get his point across, would make her believe him. Because yeah, he could push past what they'd done to him. Barely so, but he could, with time. Had been his own damn fault anyway. He should have just been stronger. His priorities were set now, the safety of his family came first, before his own, before revenge.

But he would never forgive himself if he walked away now and later find out that they'd picked another victim. _That_ he couldn't live with.

He'd keep an eye on them, check up on them, drop a message every now and then. Make sure they wouldn't forget him. Just like he'd never forget them. He had his scars, inside and out and probably a whole lot of nightmares to make sure he never would. He'd give them a little something in return. Made sure they'd feel the urge top look over their shoulders whenever they planned anything stupid, or just for the sake of it. Not knowing was the worst part, he knew that better than anyone. And he'd make sure that they'd never quite forget, never felt entirely safe anymore…

So that would be his revenge. It didn't seem to be much in comparison, but he would make the best of it. And who knew. Maybe one day, they'd meet again. Wasn't there a saying that you always meet two times in a lifetime?

He'd make that second one count, then. Besides, revenge was a dish best served cold, right?

So until then he'd just have to concentrate on getting stronger, better. Learn from his mistakes.

"Dean…?" Bobby's voice ripped him out of his musings.

"Yeah…what…?"

"I asked if you were OK with leaving now or if you might want to stay on for a couple of days. We always could go back to the motel if you've got some things to finish up…"

Now there would be no use in that. Absolutely not. He wanted to get as far away as fast as possible. For now he needed distance to work it all out.

He actually looked forward to the small room he and Sammy had at Bobby's, always theirs whenever they needed it. He'd feel better once he was out of here, off to the only place he even remotely considered a home anymore.

"Nah, I'm good. Let's just hit the road. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get better, the sooner I can get back to get my baby…"

Sammy rolled his eyes at that and Bobby just smiled.

Dean again leaned back, closed his eyes and listened to the car coming to life, pulling away from the curb and easing onto the road. A long road ahead, no doubt but at least he knew where it would lead to this time and the prospect was more than he could have hoped for.

He listened to Sam and Bobby talk in hushed tones and let the sound of their voices and the turned down tunes of some country music from the radio lull his aching mind and body to sleep.

The end

_AN:_

_Well, so, that's it…feels kind of strange to finish a story that has been a part of me for so long… It's actually the first story I ever finished, ever. Because so far nobody ever got to read anything I wrote and as soon as I picked up something else, another train of thought, another storyline I just started following that. No harm done, since it was for my own entertainment only._

_But this actually feels great and so much better._

_Thank you guys so much for giving me this – I never though it possible that I would actually feel so good about my writing. I know it's far from even good, but to see that someone does care and appreciate it is more than I could have ever asked for! So far I always felt like a freak, writing fan fiction (I didn't even know something like this existed until some 6 months ago – a hospital stay and following 4 weeks of recuperation time introducing me to this amazing new world…) but now at least I know that I'm not the only freak in town ;-)_

_So thanks for giving me all this (plus listening to my incoherent ramblings!) and I really hope that you enjoyed my little story._

_As of next week I will be on a 5 week-vacation in down under, but already my head is swarming with a couple of new story-lines and I sure hope that I will get those out in the open soon. I'm actually working on a new story already– I don't know a title yet but I sure hope you'll come to check it out as soon as I dare upload it here…still nervous about this part but getting a little better every time!_

_As always – please let me know what you think of this last chapter and/or the whole story…reviews are my own private drug – I can never get enough (and please, please, please be gentle…;-)) ! _

_Take care!_


End file.
